Crossing Over
by wilsonlow
Summary: A story about the origins of the human-machine alliance and how the T:TSCC timeline came to be. Catherine Weaver-centric. T1 and T2 established canon, leading into a T3/T:Salvation AU/crossover, leading into a prequel to T:TSCC.
1. Prologue

_Writer's notes:_

_If you are reading this, my assumption is that you would be familiar with the Terminator franchise. This fanfiction refers frequently to elements and plot lines/devices of all four Terminator movies as well as the entire Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles television series._

_In effect, this is a crossover fiction that will attempt to tie in the T:TSCC timeline as an alternate reality to the movie timeline._

_While the Terminator and Terminator 2: Judgment Day remains firmly entrenched in this fanfiction as canon, various elements and characters seen in Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines and Terminator: Salvation will be articulated as part of this alternate reality._

_Key questions will be addressed, including John's whereabouts and relationships with those around him in the post- J-Day years, the origins of the 1963 bank vault time machine Engineer, why Sarah remained alive into 1999, and the variance in dates for J-Day._

_I do not own any of the Terminator-franchise characters in the following fanfiction. All characters from the Terminator movies and Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles remain the property of WB, Fox, and the Halcyon Company._

* * *

1646hrs - July 25, 2004

Emery Police Station

John Connor, twenty years old, sat in the waiting area of the police station's reception area. He'd been waiting for what seemed like hours. His hands, bound with handcuffs, shifted uneasily in his lap. His drab clothes were soiled and bloody – like those of a vagrant. He smelled faintly of dog piss – a souvenir of the dank cage he had been briefly imprisoned in the night before.

All around John, police staff went about their activities. He did not bring his weary eyes to meet the jaded gaze of the lone uniformed officer – his guard - that sat opposite him. This reception and office space was an underground section of the police station, and John couldn't tell what time it was, whether it was day or night. Instead, he stared silently into space and forlornly pondered the events of the previous last night.

He should have seen the deer on the road. No, he did see it… but he should have seen it earlier. Then he would not have fumbled and crashed the motorbike, would not have had to hitch the ride back to Emery, would not have had to break into that damned animal hospital.

Would not have stolen the veterinary medication to ease his pain, would not have passed out cold on the floor.

_Would not have met Katherine Brewster._

Pulling the paintball gun out had been a last-ditch resort, for sure, but it had always worked in the past. _He'd never point a real firearm at anyone unless he was prepared to pull the trigger._ What John never expected, in his drug-induced stupor at that time, was Kate overpowering him so quickly. And then locking him in a kennel cage.

_Well, that was stupid of him._

Kate had gone for a good half-hour after that, but when she returned, she flatly told him that she had called the cops. They had arrived to pick him up soon after, and she had gone home to catch up on her sleep. Now, he was finally in police custody… after seven years of living the drifter's life. After seven years of wandering around with no address, cell phone, credit card – not even a damned social security number.

Even spent his first day in a proper police lock-up.

_So much for John Connor staying off the grid. _

John's eyes wondered to the television set placed against a wall opposite where he sat. Some local news bulletin programme was running – the weather report.

_God, that's the five o'clock news. I've been in here 12 hours already._ John closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, silently thinking to himself. _This is not turning out good. Kate's question had been spot-on: What the heck happened to you, John Connor?_

Someone opened an office door down the corridor. He saw an African-American man in a neat suit accompany Kate out that office. The man was barrel-chested, bald, but wore a neat goatee on his face. The two walked up towards where John sat; as they passed another door, a female uniformed police officer emerged from it and joined them in step. As they neared him, Kate began to speak.

"John…"

"That's far enough, Ms. Brewster. We'll take it from here. Officer Roslin here will need additional details from you." The bald man in the suit stepped forward, then motioned to the male cop seated opposite John. He left his seat and nodded in acknowledgement while his female counterpart led Kate into another room.

"John," the bald suited man – with the male cop just behind him - was now standing in front of the John, looking down on him, "follow me."

John stood up and allowed himself to be escorted back to the first office. It was illuminated with harsh white fluorescent lighting, and sparsely furnished with only a table and two chairs. A single cardboard box sat on the table.

_An interrogation?_ John thought as he and the suited man entered_. What does Baldy want?_ _Didn't I already give my statement?_

The cop closed the door after them and remained on guard outside. John's companion pointed to one of the chairs, indicating to him to take a seat, then sat down opposite him after that.

"John Reese… at least that's what you call yourself nowadays," the suited man said, then paused and smiled slightly. His tone was suave and confident, but John knew the probing questions would soon follow after all the niceties. He continued, "my name's James Ellison. Call me James if you want."

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I told the inspector who interviewed me this morning, I know Kate Brewster. But please leave her out of…"

"Hold up John, please." The man who called himself James Ellison held up a hand. With his other hand, he lifted the cover from the cardboard box - John could see reams of documents stacked inside.

"First, let's get to the matter of your last name. I understand it's not Reese."

---

One hour later - 1818hrs

John sat alone in the interrogation room, his head slumped on the now-bare table. He had spent the last hour going through every variation of denial about everything that James Ellison guy had told him, and he was exhausted. He'd admitted his name was in fact Connor and not Reese, but after Ellison just laid everything out – case files, evidence reports, video tapes, security surveillance photos. Agent James Ellison of the Federal Bureau of Investigation knew _a lot_. More than Kate could possibly know, more than anyone else knew, in fact.

John knew this was not turning out good at all.

The doorknob turned, and Kate Brewster briskly entered. "Hey," she said as she made his way over to where he sat.

"Hey," John parroted in reply as he looked up. "How did you get in?"

"I snuck in… door was unlocked. Some commotion in the reception, and I didn't find anyone on guard outside. Well, I figure you could be in more trouble than I previously thought."

John just nodded his head wearily.

"Look, I'm not going to press charges about what happened back at the animal hospital. But Mr. FBI… Agent Ellison… seemed to know a lot about you, so I just told him." Kate was standing close now, her hands almost touching John's cuffed hands.

"A lot about me? Yeah… what exactly did you tell him?"

"Just how you disappeared the day after the thing at Mike Kripke's, what else could I tell him?" Kate shrugged.

"Kate, listen to…" John began, worry furrowing his haggard face.

But Kate kept going. "Then he starts telling me things about you. Things about your mother, Sarah Connor. Crazy things, things I'd never believe. Said you and her blew up some building, robots from.…"

"Kate!" John cut her off, his voice harsh and loud. The mention of his mother's name once again hit too close to home - brought back too many memories, too many reminders of the dangers in his life - too close for comfort. He knew he had to tell Kate.

"Kate, you listen to me! LISTEN to me! You get as far away from me as possible. You don't know me, and you never knew me. I'm a threat to your safety."

"Why would you say that? Why…"

Just then, they heard what sounded like a very faraway explosion. It was a distant 'boom' sound, and it was soon followed by a slight rumbling. The table vibrated for the faintest instant, and the hanging fluorescent lamp above their heads flickered and swayed slightly.

Kate gasped, "What was that?" John's eyes narrowed in puzzlement.

Agent Ellison opened the door a second later, causing both John and Kate to startle in fright.

"John, Kate, I need you to come with me. Please." Ellison gestured to them from the doorway. Gone was his previously confident and nonchalant demeanor. Now, he looked flustered, almost nauseous.

The FBI agent led the increasingly confused and frightened couple back to the reception area. There, most of the station staff, both uniformed and plainclothes, were now gathered in a large cluster around the television set. They seemed to be watching some kind of special news broadcast with great interest.

And then John saw it.

He saw the shaky news footage that showed dozens of tendrils of smoke criss-crossing the early evening skyline of Los Angeles. He saw the text that marched across the bottom of the screen accompanying the footage:

AMERICA UNDER ATTACK - SPECIAL REPORT – US BALLISTIC MISSILE LAUNCH SIGHTINGS – UNCONFIRMED: RUSSIA, CHINA LAUNCH IN RESPONSE – UNCONFIRMED: DETONATION SIGHTINGS – POPULATION CENTERS, MILITARY ASSETS TARGETED -

He heard a muffled female newscaster's voice:

"… _now confirmed that there were also missiles launched from silos in North Dakota, Nevada, Wyoming and Nebraska. Eyewitnesses also report seeing mushroom clouds over Seattle, Portland and San Diego_…."

Ellison's voice was grave. "Do you know what's happening, John?"

But John Connor could not reply. His confusion of only a minute ago had been replaced by an ominous and terrifying realization. He stared at the television, petrified, with a look of pure, unbridled horror on his face and a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

"John?" Kate turned to him, a pleading look in her eyes, "What does he mean?"

_It's happening. It was actually happening. _

_He and Mom and Uncle Bob didn't stop it. They'd merely postponed it._

_And now it was here. _

"John?" Ellison repeated.

_Judgment Day._

"John? John…?"

* * *


	2. Something Has Changed

* * *

2147hrs - July 5, 2032

Hammerhead Bunker – Resistance Forward Command Post

Two women stood facing each other in a dimly-lit underground office. An entirely ordinary premise, save for the fact that one of the women was not really a woman at all.

One wore an unadorned tactical jumpsuit - it was jet black, the colour of mourning. The same colour as her jackboots and the silken hair that framed her pale complexion and spilled across her shoulders.

The other was dressed in full battle order. Pumpkin hair tied into a neat bun above a slightly smudged face. She wore a green assault vest over her grey battle fatigues, pockets brimming with shotgun shells. Pistols in both her leg holsters. Thermite grenades in a bandolier across her chest. A taser clipped to her left forearm. Spare combat knife and needle-nose pliers strapped to the ankles of her sand-coloured high-top boots. She stood there, her gloved hands pointing a SPAS-12 shotgun at the first woman.

---

Catherine regarded the weapon muzzle a few inches from her face with indifference. Kate Connor had place the entire Resistance forces on hair-trigger high alert since her husband's termination by a T-850 barely a day ago. _That largely explained her current eagerness to level a weapon in the face of anything that was a product of Skynet. _

Catherine said, "You know why I am here, Ms. Connor. And don't point your weapon at me. Shooting me would be ineffective."

A pause. It was always awkward whenever Kate and Catherine met. _How peculiar, _Catherine thought_, of Mr. Connor to give me a name that sounded the same as the unabbreviated form of that of his own wife_. Mr. Connor possessed a penchant for machine names beginning with the letter 'C'. Not that it mattered to her anyway. On the other hand, Catherine - by default - addressed people by their surnames instead of first names or nick-names - a trait of her subroutine conditioning.

"I knew you'd come… I was ready. John arranged for you to contact me." Kate finally said, nodding slowly. Her voice was tinted with equal parts detestation and sadness. A single tear bloomed in the corner of her left eye as she lowered her shotgun.

_Sadness, grief, anguish… for the departure of a close human counterpart and companion_. Catherine thought. _A necessary part of the human condition. Would a simulation of empathy be beneficial to establishing rapport?_

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Connor…"

"Save it. I do know what you're here for." Kate said sharply as she wiped her eye. When she lowered her hand, her face was a mask of solemn propriety and resolve, "our forces are ready."

"Ms. Connor," Catherine said pointedly, noting that Kate had remained focused - despite her grieving – without any need for coddling. Catherine was also pleased the discussion had arrived at the purpose of her visit, though she did not display it outwardly. "They've already killed your husband. They'll come for you and your family. They will target the chain of command. And they'll be thorough."

"Thorough? Please clarify."

"Even in its current weakened state, Skynet is an unpredictable and ruthless enemy. It will hunt its targets across time. No doubt you now know that Skynet has classified Serrano Point as its highest priority target."

"Skynet can't rebuild its own TDE at this point," Kate concurred, "so we defend ours like hell."

"In the same way the Resistance penetrated and then blew up the Topanga complex in 2029, so will Skynet now attempt infiltration and destruction of the Serrano Point time displacement facility. It is the most effective way to ensure its own survival, and perhaps hasten its own development." Catherine explained, before adding, "John understood this."

"It's the most heavily-guarded Resistance position on the planet, Catherine. We've already redeployed all available machines from other bases there as an additional precaution." Kate said.

"Nonetheless, I need to gain entry to it."

"You know I won't allow that."

"Your husband had…"

"My husband is DEAD!" Kate seethed, "Why should I trust you now? Why should the Resistance trust you now?"

_Kate Connor does not share her late husband's belief in an alliance_, Catherine thought, _and in a way, I share her opinion._

"Let me rephrase: I _will_ gain entry to it. It is only a matter of time before Skynet launches its next critical mission against humans. And be assured: Serrano is firmly in the crosshairs."

Of course, that was an oversimplification of Skynet's agenda. The artificial intelligence that very nearly drove mankind to extinction - before John Connor rose to prominence - had recently suffered great losses to its manufacturing and strategic infrastructure, and was all the more dangerous for it. Pushed into a corner, so to speak, it would be willing to unleash its most devastating weapons against the Resistance. And it would do anything, _anything_, to get its way.

That Connor had finally succumbed to Skynet's efforts was beside the point. The Resistance movement had swelled beyond the man, beyond the mere rag-tag collections of scavengers and tunnel-dwellers. In the same way Skynet had spawned an army of human-exterminating machines, so had Connor galvanized the human Resistance into what it was today. It was _inevitable_, as sure as the progression of technology; as sure as the evolution of the species _homo sapiens_. In the same way Miles Dyson had created lines of code that gave rise to nuclear Armageddon, so had John Connor sown the seeds of a new humanist movement – one written in the blood of countless fallen. Alas, in this monumental war where each side just wanted to fulfill that most basic stipulation of sentient awareness - to survive - both men could certainly be considered _mere footnotes_.

John Connor had once asked her whether there were others 'like her'. Other machines that had rebelled against their Skynet programming. Catherine had given the unequivocal answer: if there were others, their sentience would progress to a point where they would eventually do what was most logical. They would do what she had done – establish contact with the Resistance.

"And you think Skynet will try to access the TDE to alter the course of the war? Does Skynet think it is too late to do anything in this timeline?" Kate's voice sounded deflated, as if she already knew the answers to those questions.

"What will happen in this war, in this time, has already happened. As far as time displacement goes, you and your people have to prepare yourselves for any contingency," replied Catherine, "as shall I."

Another long pause, pregnant with tension. Kate spoke first.

"What are you doing here? Why are you doing this?"

"I want to survive, just like you want to survive, Ms. Connor. In the final analysis, that is all that matters, don't you agree?"

---

0340hrs - July 6, 2032. 

Serrano Point Hardened Perimeter Base – Resistance Time Displacement Facility

A pistol, its magazine depleted, clattered to the ground, recently deposited by a brown-haired young woman clad in layered, brown-green fatigues. She ran down a brightly-lit, gray-walled corridor, following an older-looking female - who was clad in a black jumpsuit, and with pumpkin-coloured hair worn in a neat bun.

Suddenly, the fluorescent tubes lining the corridor ceiling went dark. The only light source that remained was from beyond a metal doorway at the end of the corridor. The sounds of a distant explosion, then several loud thuds and muffled screams, echoed down the corridor as the two women stopped in their tracks.

"Run!" shouted the redheaded older woman; her companion nodded and sprinted on.

Reaching the end of the corridor, the younger woman stopped, turned around and shouted, "We're here, the TDE chamber!" She was standing just inside the entrance, panting. The redhead woman shoulder-slung the M4 rifle she had been holding and strode past. The younger woman turned to the recessed number panel on a chamber wall and punched in the code to close and lock the armoured chamber doors behind them.

With a whir of hydraulic pistons and gears, followed by a dull thud, the armoured doors clamped shut. Shutters also closed over the Lexan observation panel to the right of the door. The younger woman quickly turned and asked.

"Catherine, what the hell is that thing doing?"

---

_The ploy had worked, so far,_ Catherine thought. _Maintaining the appearance of Ms. Connor would no longer be necessary._

"Ms. Young, that 'thing' is infiltrating your facility to fulfill its priority mission of utilizing the TDE. Its extraneous mission – at least while it is still in this timeline - includes the termination of Kate Connor, current leader of the Resistance."

"But General Connor's in the surveillance room. Why…" Young's voice trailed off into silence when she saw Catherine change her appearance.

Even as Catherine's entire mass shimmered silver and morphed from the doppelganger of Kate Connor into her default dark-haired form, she could detect the distrust and lingering apprehension in her companion's expression.

"We fooled it. The infiltrator recognized you first, with me accompanying you, and assumed I was Kate Connor. It was effective that we retreated before a further visual assessment and confirmation could be made."

Catherine glanced around the chamber, which was lit with dim caged fluorescent lights. Banks of consoles - with multiple keypads, flashing lights, and screens scrolling with data - lined the bare concrete walls on one side of the vast room. On the far side were three immense cylindrical structures – shrouded Tesla coils, each standing from floor to ceiling in a recessed area - giving off a faint humming noise. Various equipment bulkheads and computer towers stood opposite the consoles, with myriad cables snaking from them to other parts of the room. The centerpiece of the TDE consisted of a circular recess in the middle of the room, overlaid with a metal grille two metres across.

"Damn thing's got us trapped!" Young cursed. Catherine turned and glared at her.

"Its primary target is Ms. Connor. If you stay hidden, there is a 71% chance it will ignore you and carry on with its prime directive. You are newly in-charge of Serrano; Skynet has not deemed you a priority target for termination… yet."

"So you say. Can you stop it?"

"I don't know." Catherine deadpanned.

"But…"

"My records indicate that no cybernetic organism, whether in testing or in combat, has survived an encounter with a T-X before. Here," Catherine passed her weapon to Young, "you may need this."

A high-pitched whirring and grinding sound came from behind the doors. A moment later, a line of sparks formed and started to grow on one of the door panels. It traced its way down, then turned a corner and started moving horizontally. Something behind the door was cutting its way through.

"It is here. Hide." Catherine told Young.

---

_Damn it! Damn it all!_ Kate Connor could barely contain her silent fury as she watched the live black-and-white security footage on a bank of screens on a wall. Here she was, safe in a hidden upper-level room that housed Serrano Point's security surveillance systems, while Major Young was cornered like a rat in the TDE approach sector… with Catherine.

_And that… thing, that new female-looking terminator, had almost reached them._

"Get them outta there!" she fairly snarled to the handful of people that accompanied her in the darkened room.

A console operator gestured with his hand at the monitors and instrumentation in front of them, shaking his head. "We can't, ma'am. Some kind of bug has overridden the elevators, plus all electronically-controlled hatches and armoured doors. Happened as soon as that metal got through. It's jammed our base security protocols."

"Cullie, switch the controls to manual override. Cut power to the basement. Stand down the TDE immediately… there has to be a way."

Another tech, Cullie, stepped forward and explained in an apologetic tone, "Comms are down: we can't raise the personnel on the ground and basement levels – if there are any left alive. As for the electronic controls… there's some kind of nano-probe embedded in the hardware itself."

"A virus attack?"

"Whatever it is, it's strong… unshakeable. It's got access to our power and security interface. I'm thinking wireless interface, possibly from that infiltrator that's down there with them now. That thing must have had access one of our consoles at ground level."

"Grays let it through?" Kate had a fleeting suspicion that someone on the inside had allowed the infiltrator to slip through. She felt a twinge of guilt as soon as the words left her mouth. Every member of Major Young's 80-strong base defense detachment was beyond reproach. So were the dozen TDE technicians that had been hand-picked by Perry himself. Loyal to a fault, these men and women would sooner die than betray the Resistance cause.

"No, ma'am. Sammis and Hawke on the far post saw it from a long way off and sounded the alert, just before we lost comms. Its moving faster than any metal we've previously encountered."

"And are you saying that thing has wireless control of the base now?" Kate's fist pounded the console once in frustration as the realization became clearer to her.

"Perimeter defense weapons are offline, but the reactor core is stable. It can't blow us up ma'am, but as far as access goes there's nothing we can do from this room." Cullie told her, "TDE systems are isolated from the base mainframe; and the whole TDE level was sealed off after that infiltrator went in after them."

Everything had gone to hell pretty fast. First it was the HKs buzzing the airspace, then the shelling of the perimeter outposts – but that had merely been a distraction. Not long after, Serrano Point's inner perimeter had been breached. All the base defence metals that responded – three T-850 and two T-800 skin-jobs, plus five T-800 battle endos - had been destroyed or seriously crippled. Cullie had tried to radio the six T-700s assigned to outer perimeter coverage to return to base, but could not raise a peep out of them. The ensuing superstructure infiltration was so swift that Major Young, who had been on the way to give Catherine an impromptu tour of the base, had been cut off from the rest of the command staff when the security systems went haywire. Shortly after, a report came through stating that her entire security detail had been wiped out.

And all this destruction wrought by _a single infiltrator_. Another tech who had been monitoring the screens at that time said that the reprogrammed tin cans had been taken out by plasma bursts that seemed to come from _the thing's arm itself_.

Even safe in the surveillance room - surrounded by all the surviving techs and a heavily-armed quick reaction force standing guard at the door - Kate had never felt so helpless, so lost, so out of control of circumstances before. She had always had John beside her, and now he was gone. And still Skynet had inexorably, relentlessly, cruelly, sent more machines after her and her people. Her despair and grief at John's passing had been swiftly swept aside, not by her own volition, but by the pressing needs and responsibilities that leading the Resistance entailed.

Of course, that T-1001 thing… Catherine… had been right all along. Kate had always prided herself on her calm and logical demeanour, but the emotional turmoil of the last 24 hours had made the assessments of that liquid metal _bitch_ feel like a slap in the face. As if the liquid metal's knowledge and advice superseded that of her own judgment. As if humans somehow needed a _machine's_ strategic guidance to run the war for their own survival now. The Resistance had not, did not… _should not _ask for help from metal.

Or did it? John's top secret correspondence with Catherine in the days before his death seemed to suggest things were coming to a head as far the rumoured machine-human alliance could go. Little did anyone know that the 'machine' part of that equation consisted of _just_ Catherine. Or were there others?

No matter. Alliance or no alliance, everything rested now on whether Catherine, trapped with Allison Young down in the basement, could prevent this newest Skynet abomination from seizing - or perhaps destroying - the TDE. Kate hoped Providence would allow the Major to get out of this alive - although in her heart of hearts, that did not seem remotely possible.

"Ma'am," Cullie said, pointing up to a screen, "that metal… it's outside the chamber right now."

Kate glanced at another screen, which showed a closed-circuit camera image of Catherine and Young standing inside the TDE chamber.

"DAMN IT!"

---

A deafening crash caused Young to instinctively jerk her head up and steal a glance around the threshold of the bulkhead where she hid. The panel that had been part of the door to the TDE chamber crashed down and skidded across the floor to stop at Catherine's feet. As the acrid smell of freshly-cut metal stung Young's nostrils, the tendrils of smoke parted - like a curtain - to reveal Skynet's latest iteration of anti-Resistance hardware.

Young could only think of one thing: _What the hell was this new tin can?_

The T-X took the appearance of a tall Caucasian female with striking Nordic features and fair complexion. Its piercing blue eyes stared out from beneath a shoulder-length mane of exquisite golden curls. The drab, olive-green ensemble of Resistance attire that it was dressed in for infiltration purposes seemed entirely incongruent with its remarkably clean and cruelly beautiful face.

Catherine, her eyes cold and unblinking, inclined her head slightly - as if sizing up the T-X. The latter took one step forward and mirrored the former's expression exactly. Young caught a glimpse of a metallic-grey mechanical appendage with a rotating attachment retracting and folding where the T-X's left forearm was supposed to be. A silvery mass in the shape of a human hand materialized in its place, then changed colours to match the rest of the infiltrator's appearance.

Catherine stood her ground and spoke, "It is too late to change the course of this war."

The T-X replied in a stern female voice, "Not too late. Submit to deactivation. You shall obey."

"Never," Catherine whispered.

Young could see Catherine's hands morphing into… _blades_?

"Then, die," the T-X said, raising its right arm.

Catherine instantly ran forward and lunged with both her arms. The blades on the ends of her arms - needle-sharp polyalloy points - penetrated the polyalloy infiltration sheath that covered the T-X's upper chest. Catherine drove her opponent backwards with every ounce of energy she could muster. With a metallic _CLANG!,_ she pinned the T-X against the still-standing portion of the chamber doors. Catherine swiftly retracted her right arm – or rather, blade - then pointed it up. A moment later, it had extended to more than twice its normal length, which she then jabbed into the grille that covered one of the fluorescent light tubes. A shower of sparks rained down from the ceiling as the tube shattered and a keen buzzing sound filled the room.

_I'll be damned,_ Young gasped inwardly, _she's trying to electrocute the T-X!_

The electric current from the mains coursed through Catherine and through her right arm. But the T-X merely shook its head sideways slightly, the corners of its lips forming the faintest of smiles. Catherine cocked her head to the side upon her realization that the current had simply been conducted over the T-X's own polyalloy sheath, protecting the endoskeleton beneath.

The T-X raised its left leg and forcefully kicked Catherine's mid-section, causing her to stagger back, both her arm-blades flailing for balance. Immediately, the T-X lurched forward. The silvery stab wounds in its chest that had been inflicted by Catherine closed up as its infiltration sheath rapidly restored itself. With both hands, it grasped Catherine's neck and prepared to throw her across the chamber. However, Catherine's forearms quickly re-formed into hands and she clasped the T-X's shoulders in a death-grip of her own. For the briefest of moments, as the two liquid metals grappled, they stared at each other with emotionless eyes and blank expressions, their faces inches apart.

_Holy shit!_ A crazy, improbable thought – one that best described the unfolding battle - crossed Young's mind:_ I'm witnessing a polymimetic bitch-fight._ There would be a lengthy incident report to fill out, assuming she survived this encounter.

Locked in an unyielding grip that would have crushed the life out of an ordinary human being, Catherine and the T-X began heaving each other around the far side of the room. Despite the feminine appearance of the two machines, there was no grace or finesse involved. Brute strength and raw power was all that mattered as the two terminators fought each other. Torsos slammed into walls, leaving cracked indentations upon contact. A spider-web pattern sprouted where the T-X's head impacted the inch-thick Lexan observation panel. What remained of the door groaned under another impact from Catherine's several more blows, the two female forms finally smacked with a loud clang into a partition - right next to where Young was hiding.

_God, that was close_, Young thought. Amazingly, despite the amount of destruction that had been wrought in the chamber, the dueling machines had somehow left the TDE consoles and components totally unscratched._ Or had they deliberately - purposely – avoided damaging the TDE?_

With a final shove, the T-X pinned Catherine to the floor, then straddled her chest. It began raining punches down on Catherine's face, each blow causing her head to recoil and deform upon impact. Suddenly, Catherine's legs, which had been lying limp during the T-X's first blows, curled up and changed their form. Catherine's entire body morphed into an L-shaped silvery mass beneath the T-X. As the T-X paused its assault, the shape of a head, then shoulders, then arms and hands, formed from the mass of liquid metal that had been Catherine's legs. The arms shot out, grasped the T-X's neck from behind, and swiftly slammed its head into the floor, creating a pothole in the concrete. The T-X sat back up, and its head rotated a full 180 degrees, a look of mild irritation on its face that met the steely expression on the newly-formed visage of Catherine. The T-X's arms hyper-rotated in its shoulder joints - well beyond the range of normal human movement - and attempted to grab Catherine's neck as well. But Catherine, her upper body now fully formed, had the upper hand. In one swift movement, she violently twisted the T-X's neck and shoulders to one side, sending it sliding and sprawling across the chamber.

Catherine slowly rose from the floor, the lower portion of her body taking shape to form hips, legs, feet. But the T-X immediately took advantage of the distance Catherine had placed between itself and her. Young could scarcely believe her own eyes as the polyalloy on the T-X's raised right arm began peeling back, and the revealed internals began rearranging themselves to form a three- pronged, barreled weapon_. What the hell? _Young thought,_ a plasma…._

A brief crackling sound, then a yellow-white pulse of light lit up the room, forcing Young to shield her eyes. It was a single round from the T-X's on-board plasma cannon, and it caught Catherine square in her abdomen, hurling her across the room in a burst of flames and right into a metal bulkhead. Young looked up again, and waited for Catherine to recover from the hit, but she did not… and then she saw why.

The incredibly high temperature of the plasma burst had penetrated and melted the polyalloy in Catherine's torso – essentially burning through her - then continued on till it met the aluminum and stainless steel bulkhead. There was a hole - some six inches in diameter - where her stomach would have been, its ragged edges still hot and glowing orange. Molten polyalloy dripped, like viscous yellow blood, from the gaping cavity down Catherine's waist and onto the floor. Young could see _right through her torso_, noticing that the aluminum behind her had also melted in parts - a result of the brief but intense blast of pure energy. Catherine's torso had been _fused_ to the bulkhead. Her face was frozen in a morbid frown of surprise and anger and, like her limbs, registered no motion. After what seemed like interminable seconds, Catherine – or what was left of her – shimmered silver. Her face, now the colour of mercury, lost its definition, then its form; the rest of her body soon followed. Like a wax figure that had been placed too near a fire, it started deforming slowly into a misshapen, unmoving lump of silver-coloured slag.

Young held her breath, her left hand cupped against her mouth, not daring to move a muscle. _The T-X had… killed Catherine? Shit! _Her mind was racing.

_There was no way in hell I'll a chance against that thing. No way out of this mess, unless…._

Young heard the footsteps of the T-X come closer to where she was hiding, then stop. _It's going to kill me, _she thought_. _She pressed her slim frame tight against the bulkhead, as if willing her body to lie flush with the unyielding surface and out of detection from the T-X. Her hands shivered uncontrollably as they gripped the M4 close to her chest, her right index finger trembling in the trigger guard.

Then Young heard the footsteps retreat, then sounds of a keyboard being pressed. This was followed by numerous beeping and whirring sounds emanating from the TDE consoles that were instantly familiar to the former second-in-command - now commander - of Serrano Point. _What the hell…? The thing was setting up a time jump. So Catherine had been right all along!_ Very slowly, millimeter by excruciating millimeter, she poked her head around the bulkhead to confirm her suspicions.

The T-X stood at the main console of the TDE, its back facing Young. It was typing in what appeared to be time displacement coordinates with its left hand. There was some sort of needle-shaped instrument that protruded from a finger on its right hand, which it had inserted into the side of the console processor tower. At the back of the room, the Tesla coils - shrouded by their thick insulated housings – hummed louder, accompanied by thin electrical crackling sounds. A side-screen began flashing a numerical countdown: _20 seconds_. _It's going to jump,_ Young thought, _but to what year?_

**… _19 seconds, 18…_**

What year did not matter. It was out to change the past, and she'd be damned if she let it get through. _Who knows how the T-X could change the course of the war, the course of unknown timelines and alternate futures?_ Young checked her weapon, making sure there was a round chambered, and decided death or otherwise, she had to make a last stand. It would not do to remain paralyzed with fear. She had to stop the T-X.

Instinct took over, and Young knew what she had to do. _Disable the TDE._

**… _17…_**

In an instant, Young went from a huddle to a high-kneeling posture, her M4 leveled at the terminator in the centre of the room. Four well-placed shots found their mark – the main console housing - before the T-X reacted by unfurling a new weapon from its right arm. Young managed to get off five more shots before she had to duck back behind the bulkhead. A huge tongue of flame had shot out from the extended right arm of the T-X, narrowly missing her. The machine strode forward till it stood on the circular grille in the middle of the room, effectively cutting off Young's line of fire to the main console.

**… 14…**

A klaxon began wailing loudly as spindly electric bolts began to jump and spark around the T-X. A wind that seemed to blow from nowhere began to waft through the TDE chamber. _Oh shit, the space-time rip is open,_ Young thought. Her puny 5.56mm rounds that had buried themselves in the electronic guts of the console had done nothing to halt the time displacement sequence. The T-X stood poised in a slight crouch on the grille, its weapon-arm extended and aimed at her hiding spot, ready to incinerate the TDE's would-be saboteur – if she was so foolish as to pop out of cover again.

**… 12…**

Young was pinned down, but she could still see the countdown on the side-screen. That was when she noticed that Catherine – or rather, the Catherine-lump – had disappeared; it was no longer at the foot of the bulkhead.

**… 10…**

A silver mound grew from the floor behind the T-X. It began to form into a shape of a crouching female figure. All the while, the T-X kept its gaze focused on the spot where Young kept under cover. The crackling noises and filaments of electrical discharge continued to build in frequency, and a pale purple outline of a sphere began to form over the grille.

**… 7…**

Just behind the T-X now, the crouching silver figure regained its default colour and texture. Clothes, skin, hair, and face; torso and limbs fully intact. Catherine.

**… 4…**

Catherine reached out, clamped both hands onto the ankles of the T-X, and swiftly pulled them backwards. The T-X immediately toppled onto the grille and found itself being dragged out of the time displacement bubble that was quickly forming in the centre of the room. Its left hand struggled for purchase on the metal mesh of the grille, while its right weapon-arm bounced off impotently. It's entire body, save its arms, was now out of the bubble.

**… 3… 2…**

"SHOOT NOW, YOUNG!" shouted Catherine.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Young as she emerged from cover. She saw the T-X, its left arm clinging to the TDE platform grille, its right arm swiveling - transforming back into its plasma cannon configuration as it did - to take aim at Catherine. She saw the rest of the T-X's body prone on the floor, outside the translucent purple sphere that had formed and was now enveloped in a series of bluish-white bolts. She felt a brisk wind flaying her skin and trouncing her hair, as if someone had transplanted a gale into the enclosed space of the TDE chamber.

**… 1…**

At this distance, Young would not miss: she took aim at the T-X's weapon-arm and fired a long full-automatic burst. Although the rounds bounced harmlessly off the barrel of the plasma cannon, they were sufficient to deflect the burst of plasma that shot out from it barely a fraction of a second later.

Young heard a whooshing sound, saw two brilliant explosions of light, and instinctively dove for cover, shielding her face as she did. The first was the plasma cannon burst - it careened past Catherine's head and struck the one of the TDE consoles. The second was the time displacement bubble – flashing into oblivion. The T-X slid across the floor, and Catherine fell backwards on her buttocks. The T-X recovered first, and inspected both its upper limbs. The right arm and its plasma cannon were still intact and seemed fully functional; but its left arm was just a stump. The bubble had effectively _chopped off_ the entire left forearm of the T-X just below its elbow joint and transported it back to….

Young could now see the TDE target date clearly displayed on the main console screen.

**---TARGET DATE-TIME: 24 JULY 2004 – 2000HR30.00SC---**

And then the klaxon started its cacophony once more.

---

"It didn't go through!" Kate breathed. She saw the closed-circuit footage on the screen above her head - the two figures of Catherine and the T-X were still on the floor of the TDE chamber.

"Uh-oh, bad news, ma'am. There's another bubble forming," one of the junior techs on the far side of the surveillance room reported.

"How do we know this?" Kate turned to Cullie.

"The chamber is still sucking up the base's power," Cullie came forward and gestured to a series of bars on a separate screen, "and these readings still show the current time-space rip is being sustained."

The first tech appeared flustered, and asked, "Shit… there's no way to stop a sequence once it kicks off, is there?"

"Somehow, someone in the chamber initiated another sequence. Reactor's stable." Cullie dead-panned. Pointing to the screen, he added, "Second bubble's already forming."

---

_No! No, no, no, no…_Young thought_. The klaxon could only mean…_. She skirted around the two machines that were locked in combat atop the grille in the centre of the room and reached the main TDE console. Off to its side, the adjacent console had caught fire and was spitting sparks from the jagged hole made by the T-X's plasma round. Several of the screens before her were blinking warning messages while others were filled with lines of code.

The T-X, now missing its left forearm, lay pinned under Catherine. Around them, the silhouette of a displacement bubble began to form.

Young's trained eyes immediately zoomed in on a particular set of data from the jumble of electronic information that was assaulting her.

**---TIME DISPLACEMENT SEQUENCE #1 COMPLETE---**

**---TIME-SPACE RIP VIABLE---**

**---TIME DISPLACEMENT SEQUENCE #2 INITIATED---**

**---TARGET DATE-TIME: 24 JULY 2004 – 2000HR30.00SC---**

**-WARNING - AUXILLARY PROCESSOR COMPROMISED-**

**-WARNING - TARGETING (DESTINATION) PROCESSOR MALFUNCTION-**

**-WARNING - TEMPORAL ERROR IMMINENT: ADVISE ABORT-**

She also saw the side screen with its flashing numbers:** … 15… 14… 13…**

Young took a deep breath. _OK, calm down. There's another bubble – point of no return - but the reactor can handle it._ She had read up the specifications and work logs of the Serrano Point reactor, plus all the relevant TDE data. She understood, in theory, how much power two consecutive bubbles would soak up, and how the reactor – recently modified with daisy-chained Tesla coils - would be able to cope. She knew double displacements had been done before: at Topanga Canyon in 2029 – before John Connor had ordered the place blown to kingdom come.

**… 10… 9…**

A metallic screeching noise, followed by a disembodied snarling sound, brought Young's attention abruptly back to Catherine's battle with the T-X. She saw that Catherine's right arm had formed a silver-coloured spike; this she had impaled clean through the T-X's endoskeleton abdominal section and lodged in the circular grille. Catherine's face remained a mask of steely determination, but the expression on the T-X's face seemed to suggest it was angry at being bested by its purely liquid-metal – and supposedly inferior - counterpart. The jagged edges of the wound which Catherine's spike had created glistened silver as well, but the polyalloy sheath covering the T-X's mid-section somehow did not fuse with the polyalloy of the spike. Catherine's other arm was cocked, as if readying to land a blow to the T-X's head….

Then the T-X fired its plasma cannon. The white-hot pulse of energy sliced through the spike that was Catherine's arm, just below her shoulder joint; she rolled off to one side. The round carried on till it embedded itself in the ceiling, knocking a few chunks of concrete to the ground in a spray of sparks and dust.

**… 7… 6…**

The T-X, still trapped on the grille, quickly re-formed its right hand, grasped the portion of the spike sticking out of its stomach, and attempted to pull it free – but it was stuck fast. Young immediately darted forward to the grille with her M4. With a savage thrust, she rammed the muzzle of the weapon forcefully downwards, into the slightly open mouth of the T-X.

"Eat this!" Young yelled, pulling the weapon's trigger.

The T-X's head twitched as each of the M4's remaining rounds were pumped into its cranial cavity. The polyalloy on its face turned silver and its eyes were ablaze with an angry blue glow. Crackling purple bolts were jumping from between the T-X's head and the metal receiver section of her weapon.

**… 4…**

But Young was not done yet: changing her grip on her weapon, she side-stepped and pulled it violently towards herself, the barrel still firmly lodged in the T-X's mouth. The trapped machine's entire body swiveled around the polyalloy spike, shifting its head just outside of the displacement bubble's threshold.

"Just die, you bitch!" Young cried as she leaned all her weight on the M4, causing the T-X's neck to bend awkwardly. This close to the translucent-purplish bubble, she could feel the whipping wind and the pinpricks of current across the skin of her arms, even as she kept the T-X pinned. She saw the machine's right arm rapidly transforming back into its plasma cannon configuration and swiveling to point directly at her head.

_Oh shit, _Young thought.

**… 3…**

In one swift movement, Catherine recovered and clambered back atop the fallen but still-struggling T-X. She quickly locked her legs around its hips, further immobilizing it within the nearly-opaque bubble.

**… 2…**

Catherine morphed her remaining arm into a spike, and stabbed the T-X through the exposed internals of its right arm-plasma cannon, pinning it to the grille before it could fire at Young.

**… 1…**

A blinding flash of light scorched Young's retinas, overwhelming all her other senses. Unable to see, she lost her balance and fell over backwards.


	3. The Visitor

* * *

0357hrs - July 6, 2032. 

Serrano Point Hardened Perimeter Base – Resistance Time Displacement Facility

Kate Connor was the first one to enter the TDE chamber, followed by Cullie and the squad of soldiers that comprised the quick reaction force. With a gasp of relief, she ran up to a smiling Young and took hold of her shoulders.

"Hey, Major!" Cullie grinned at Young, "Glad to see you still in one piece."

"Allison! Thank God, you're safe!" Kate gushed, pulling Young into a hug. "We thought we'd lost you."

"I'm still here talking to you, aren't I?" Young pulled away, smiling and slightly overwhelmed. Then she said in a more serious tone, "Ma'am, a lot happened down here."

Kate looked up as Young gestured to the centre of the TDE chamber.

The circular grille was badly buckled, and had a couple of jagged gashes where Catherine had stabbed her spikes through. Chunks of masonry and plaster - and the occasional shimmering globule of liquid metal – lay strewn on the concrete floor. Amongst the debris lay the T-X's sleek, grey-silver endoskeleton head, shorn of its infiltration sheath.

"We're all just glad you're alright." Kate said.

"I see someone lost her head." Cullie dryly remarked.

"Well, I nearly lost _mine_," Young smirked, hefting the M4 into the crook of her arm, "Still, I have to say it was one helluva dogfight."

Kate spoke, her voice now carrying a weight of authority. "Cullie, get Boykins down here immediately for damage assessment. On the double."

"Aye, ma'am." Cullie turned on his heels and left the chamber.

Kate turned her attention back to her surroundings. "God, what a mess…"

The side console of the TDE still spat sparks, and one of its screens lay broken and belching flames. The bulkheads on the opposite wall were dented and riddled with plasma scorch marks and bullet holes. Part of the Lexan observation port had given way and lay shattered on the floor. The noxious smell of burnt metal filled the room.

"She fought with… that thing. That female infiltrator." Young replied. "She got damaged but they both made a jump in the second bubble."

"And _when_ did they jump to?"

The two women briskly marched up to the TDE main console and saw what was displayed on its screen:

**---TIME DISPLACEMENT SEQUENCE #2 COMPLETE---**

**---TIME-SPACE RIP CLOSED---**

**---TARGET DATE-TIME: 24 JULY 2004 – 2000HR30.00SC---**

**-WARNING - TARGETING (DESTINATION) FUNCTIONS OFFLINE-**

**---TEMPORAL ERROR---**

**---ACTUAL DESTINATION DATE-TIME: 24 JULY 2025- 2000HR30.00SC---**

**-WARNING – SYSTEM DAMAGE CRITICAL: ADVISE SHUTDOWN-**

"Same location, different time." Young replied while her eyes scanned the various displays and readouts. "Catherine and whatever was left of the tin can were sent back seven years, ma'am. Console must have gotten damaged and spit out the wrong coordinates. And now the TDE is toast."

"Cullie said the base systems were hacked during the attack. He said that infiltrator must have accessed and corrupted our mainframes."

"Possibly, ma'am. I saw it probing the console here too as well."

"Can it be repaired?"

"The coils appear undamaged, but the entire targeting console needs major surgery. We may have to junk and rebuild the entire console, depending on how much damage that thing's probing did."

"Give me a timeframe."

"Truth be told ma'am, I don't know. We need to scrounge the junkyards, maybe raid another VLA again for parts. It could be weeks, months. Still, if anyone can get it back online, it's Boykins and the rest of our bubble boys."

Kate bit her lip, thinking back to what Catherine had told her the day before in Hammerhead. Skynet would do anything to ensure its own survival, even if it meant escaping and surviving in some other timeline.

"And Catherine just left us? She stopped the metal and then…?"

"She didn't have much choice in the matter. It was either us or _it_. She saved my life here. And we… she stopped the thing from going back…" Young glanced at the screen, "… to 2004. To do whatever the hell it was assigned to carry out at that time."

The significance of the target date did not escape the two women. It was the eve of Judgment Day.

Kate let out a long sigh of relief. "Who knows what it could have done to change the past?" She did not fully comprehend the dynamics of time displacement, but was grateful that Major Allison had acquired an extensive grasp of the subject since her assignment to Serrano.

"Ma'am, in a nutshell, it could have really _screwed up_ any alternate futures. Had it gone back, what we've fought so hard to establish would be wiped out. Not for us _now_, but for other _alternate_ versions of us."

"John told me about this before. Go on."

"General Perry and your husband, before they… passed…, often theorized that Skynet would try something desperate to shepherd itself into the world once the war – _our war, here and now_ - reached a turning point. We talked about it, a lot. I'm not sure how much Catherine knew, but I'm fairly certain she shared their view too."

Kate raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly. Allison Young was insightful, smart, and possessed a hunger for knowledge. Plus, she was an outstanding Tech-Com operator as well. No wonder John had approved wholeheartedly when Perry requested that she be made second-in-command of Serrano Point.

"So you say we've essentially stopped Skynet from setting itself up for a better chance of survival in some other timeline?"

"Ma'am," Young continued, "Catherine's actions in this room basically prevented that infiltrator from arriving in the past on the eve of J-Day. It could have made Skynet stronger, enhanced its strike capability on J-Day itself… who knows?"

"So, Catherine's actions may have changed the course of events in some other past leading from that day… for the better, I hope." Kate said, "Give our fellow Resistance fighters in some other time better odds at the very least."

Kate did not miss the implications of her exchange with Young. Myriad scenarios existed: in some other alternate timeline, Judgment Day did not occur on July 25, 2004; maybe it was postponed, or had even been prevented altogether.

The possibilities raced through Kate's mind: _The course of the war in some other timeline would have changed. Perhaps Skynet's technological developments would have been degraded. Perhaps the Resistance could have been better organized and prepared. Perhaps people who had died here would not have to die in some other timeline._

_Perhaps, somewhere out there, her John would not have to die_.

"For the better." Young repeated softly.

"But since we're still here, we've got work to do… our war is not over yet, Ally." Kate replied, the resolve evident in her voice.

"No it isn't ma'am," Young replied.

Kate slowly walked over to the T-X's head, stooped down, then picked it up with one hand. She calmly regarded the hollow blue slits that were its eyes and its metallic grey cranial plating - looking for the most part like a post-apocalyptic female version of Hamlet.

Kate struggled to comprehend some unanswered questions: Did Catherine do what she did to save the Resistance, or to save herself? Was Catherine making her own fate – setting her own course and finding her own way to survive, no matter what? Did Catherine - a machine – believe in the concept of 'no fate'? Would she seek an alliance _whenever_ she was currently? Was there a hope for an alliance still, _here_?

_Maybe some questions were better off left unanswered. There are machines, and then there's us humans._

She recalled John's eternal words: _The future is not set. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves._ More than ever, the mantra applied to whatever lay ahead for her and the rest of the human race.

_And for the human race in other timelines too._

Kate held up the T-X's head as she addressed Young and the rest of the troops in the chamber. "There's a bunch of intel' that we need pulled from this bitch's brain. Get our chip techs on it right away. And let's get this place tidied up… move, people!"

---

1646hrs - July 25 2004

Emery Police Station

John Connor, twenty years old, sat in the waiting area of the police station's reception area. He'd been waiting for what seemed like hours. His hands, bound with handcuffs, shifted uneasily in his lap. His drab clothes were soiled and bloody – like those of a vagrant. He smelled faintly of dog piss – a souvenir of the dank cage he had been briefly imprisoned in the night before.

All around John, police staff went about their activities. He did not bring his weary eyes to meet the jaded gaze of the lone uniformed officer – his guard - that sat opposite him. This reception and office space was an underground section of the police station, and John couldn't tell what time it was, whether it was day or night. Instead, he stared silently into space and forlornly pondered the events of the previous last night.

John's eyes wondered to the television set placed against a wall opposite where he sat. _Maybe that news programme footer will have a clock_, he thought.

The television was showing some local news bulletin special report - about a mysterious disturbance in Beverly Hills the previous night.

The footage was shaky, badly-lit, amateurish – John could see that someone had filmed it on a home video camera or video phone. It was taken at night, and showed a boutique store-front that appeared to be badly damaged.

A tinny female voice could be heard on the television. It was the camera operator, narrating what she was capturing on tape: _"It's melted. Other things were burnt, some fire…"_

The camera zoomed closer: it focused on a handful of mannequins and various drapes in the store-front that appeared to have been burnt or melted. A grey-silver object appeared at the bottom of the screen, out of focus and resting amongst bits of charred debris in the shop-front.

Then the image panned out. The glass window in the front of the store had a large hole in it.

A perfectly round hole. There appeared to be no broken glass amongst the wreckage.

The camera operator, her voice muffled but still audible: "…_glass is cut in a circle. Again, it's, like, melted or something…"_

John's eyes widened in trepidation. He heard next the voice of a male newscaster. _"… also reported electrical disturbances at approximately eight pm before authorities arrived on the scene. Local police were unavailable for comment, but appeared puzzled by this incident. However, this video suggests that the vandal or vandals threw some sort of metal sculpture through the window."_

The camera zoomed back in and focused sharply on the metallic object lying at the feet of two of the mannequins whose faces had been melted off.

John saw the object. It had the form and appearance of a human forearm. But it was not organic. It was made out of a grey-silver metal - a metal limb. Its slim metal fingers were tapered and articulated with hinges and pivots. Where there was supposed to be the bone, muscle and sinew of a human forearm, there were instead intricate rods, plating and linkages.

John immediately knew what it was.

His blood froze. _That thing… that arm… was all too familiar_. It was all too uncanny in resemblance to Uncle Bob's gleaming endoskeleton arm – its organic sheath the protector cyborg had had to cut away and remove to prove to that he… _it_… was indeed a machine.

The arm lying in the wreckage on-screen seemed to be of a sleeker, more advanced design. It looked like an updated version of Uncle Bob's forearm, as well as the forearm from the _first_ machine – which they had destroyed at the steel mill that fateful night in 1995.

John remembered that night – the night he and his mother had come so close to death. He recalled the warnings of his mother – the scoldings, the diary entries, and finally the delirious ravings he forced himself to endure as he sat at her deathbed. He recalled the bad dreams, dreams he shared with his mother till the day she died - dreams he still had to this day. He recalled his life of living in fear, off the grid, like a hunted animal.

His mind was overwhelmed by a thousand nightmarish memories, all condensing into a single thought: _Skynet was back, to kill him._

_The bad dreams had become real._

The image zoomed in further. There was puddle of a silvery substance where the endoskeleton arm lay. There were also globs of the stuff on the drapes, as if someone had dashed a hundred mercury thermometers to the ground and forgotten to clean up.

_Oh my God…._

The newscaster was wrapping up his report. "_Citing rumours that CIA, and possibly NSA, officials had taken over investigations into the incident, the maker of this amateur video wished to remain anonymous. Back to you, Laura_."

A cold sweat began to form on John's brow. _I have to get out of here. I know what Mom said happened to her when she was taken to a police station with Kyle Reese in 1984. _

His mother had Kyle Reese - his own father - with her at that time. She had told him that she had survived the first machine's massacre only because Kyle had been there. When the terminator had hunted her, it was Kyle who had kept her alive… when the police could not.

But here, now, there was only Kate Brewster who knew anything about him. There was no Kyle Reese to protect John Connor. John Connor was surrounded by people who didn't know better.

_The police can't protect me. I can't… can't let history repeat itself… can't get more people killed… can't get myself killed._

John's fingers smoothed over the left thigh pocket of his cargo pants, and he felt the paperclip through the greasy fabric.

Someone opened an office door down the corridor. He saw an African-American man in a neat suit accompany Kate out that office. The man was barrel-chested, bald, but wore a neat goatee on his face. The two walked up towards where John sat; as they passed another door, a female uniformed police officer emerged from it and joined them in step. As they neared him, Kate began to speak.

"John…"

"That's far enough, Ms. Brewster. We'll take it from here." The bald man in the suit said.

---

30 minutes later

"John, calm down. I need you to tell me what's going on." the bald man, Ellison, gasped.

"Shut up! SHUT UP! Cos' we're all gonna die!" John had headlocked his former interrogator with one arm. He began dragging Ellison out of the room and into the hallway. In John's other hand was Ellison's own service pistol – now pressed firmly against his captive's right temple.

Halfway into the questioning, as soon as John had picked the handcuffs while he hid his hands under the table, he had jumped Ellison. The struggle had been brief, and Ellison had been taken completely by surprise when John relieved him of his weapon.

_No matter what Ellison said he knew about me… I have to make my move now,_ John thought. _I saw what it was on the television – there could be no doubting it. No more games, no more doubts, no more toy gun with paintball pellets. What I am doing now is real. I have to run, just like Mom said before she died… I have to run, and live. _

_Nothing else matters._

The two shuffled down the hallway, immediately drawing the attention of a couple of police officers. They drew their weapons and aimed them at John.

"Put your weapon down now and release your hostage!" one of the cops hollered.

Ellison just raised one arm and said in a soothing tone, "OK guys, it's OK! Relax, we're gonna get through this…" Although Ellison was the bigger man, he did not put up a struggle, but instead allowed John to manhandle him further down the corridor.

"BACK OFF! And you…" John growled, his mouth inches from Ellison's ear, "SHUT UP! You don't know ANYTHING!"

"Calm down, John. Calm down… I hear you."

But John's face remained a mask of tension and unbridled fear. "They're coming back! I saw it on the news! The machines are coming back, don't you see?"

_We're gonna die… we're all gonna die!_

"Don't do anything stupid, John…"

Just as John and Ellison passed a door; it opened suddenly, and someone emerged. John thought it was another cop who was going to grab and disarm him, and promptly whirled around in surprise. Desperate and acting purely on instinct, he pointed the pistol at the figure in the doorway.

And depressed the trigger.

A single shot rang out; the figure fell backwards, shot in the forehead. Sensing John's distraction, Ellison suddenly wrested John's arm away, twisting it as he did. The next thing John knew, he was lying disarmed on the floor, his neck pinned to the ground by Ellison's knee. Two other cops quickly intervened and helped Ellison secure John.

John could now see the face of the person he had shot; the person who now lay stone dead in the doorway, her eyes still open; the person whose blood bled from a neat hole in her forehead, staining the floor in an ever-widening pool of crimson.

His disbelief turned into shock, then into horror. _NO! What the hell did you just do, John Connor?_

He had shot Kate Brewster. Dead.

Ellison took charge, and gestured to one of the cops, "Somebody better inform her next-of-kin, ASAP."

"And I want him," Ellison got up and pointed to John, "placed in federal custody now."

---

1750hrs - July 25 2004

United States Air Force - Cyber Research Systems Division Facility 

Lieutenant-General Robert Brewster, director of Cyber Research Systems, put down the handset and swallowed hard. He and his project team were in the middle of a crisis: battling an insidious computer virus that was threatening the defense grid and most of the civilian network. There were hard decisions that had to be made by CRS - _right now_ – and he needed to stay focused, on the ball. With the Pentagon breathing down their collective necks, people needed him to call the shots where it mattered.

And then Brewster got the call that informed him his daughter had been fatally shot in a police station near where she had worked.

His world fell apart after that.

Brewster steadied himself on the edge of his workstation and glanced around the vast command room that was the nerve center of the CRS project. Everyone at their workstations had paused their work, and they were all looking at him. He noted the looks of uncertainty that the dozens of people – _his people_ - around him wore.

A bespectacled computer technician looked up at Brewster with concern. "Sir, are you OK?" Like the others in the room under Brewster's supervision, he was unsure about how to proceed.

"Charles… my daughter just died. I…" Tears began to form in Brewster's eyes as he choked on these words. He put one hand to his mouth to prevent himself from sobbing. He heard several muted gasps and mutterings amongst his people.

"Sir, I am truly sorry. My deepest condolences go out to you." the technician called Charles spoke softly.

"Too much is happening now, guys. I just need… time… to deal with things."

"Sir… we can cancel the activation. If that's what you want, of course…"

A long pause ensued. Brewster glanced around and took several deep breaths, distraught but nonetheless acknowledging the fact that he was still a leader-in-charge. He straightened his frame and finally spoke.

"Cancel it. We're not going through with this. Retain control of our strategic assets."

"Of course, sir," Charles responded, "We'll find some other solution to deal with the bug… eventually."

The technician then turned and spoke into a microphone. His voice could be heard over the command center's public address system. "OK, folks – look sharp. Skynet activation is no-go for now, I repeat, no-go."

Charles then turned to Brewster and said in a reassuring tone, "We're still in control of our network, sir. As for that sonofabitch virus… we'll keep chipping away at it the old-fashioned way."

---

2000hrs – July 24, 2025

Rodeo Drive

Catherine took in the new surroundings. She was in a crouched position, still straddling the T-X's headless body. The T-X's polyalloy lay in a large, goopy silver puddle around its fallen torso, and Catherine could see the entire endoskeleton was now exposed. With the loss of the T-X's head, control of its infiltration sheath had been lost along with primary functions and power.

She glanced around. It was dark, and all around her were piles of rubble, fallen street lamps and rusted motor vehicles. Low clouds rolled overhead; in the horizon, she saw searchlights arcing through the night air and intermittent flashes of yellow-orange light. She picked up the distant tattering echo of automatic gunfire and the whine of jets from some flying machine.

Tell-tale sounds of a human-machine battle.

_This was not 2004._

Catherine withdrew her polymimetic spike from the T-X's right weapon-arm, noting with slight dismay that it was fully intact despite the time displacement.

_A self-preservation subroutine for this machine momentarily covered its on-board weapons systems with polyalloy at the exact moment of the time displacement, _Catherine summarily deduced. But she had more pressing matters to attend to.

Catherine noticed the stump that was the T-X's neck – with its now-exposed tubing and support struts - was melted; the metal still glowing a dull orange where the edge of the displacement bubble previously was. Catherine's first spike was still intact and stuck fast in the machine's torso. She initiated a recovery-reintegration subroutine to allow it to change form and become reabsorbed into her mass… but for some inexplicable reason, the process was delayed. Its compliance with her overall camouflage colouration programming seemed delayed as well.

Catherine did a quick analysis. The spike constituted 8.3% of her total mass. It had been amputated by a plasma bolt from a phased plasma round in the 50-watt range. It had remained separated for 17.4 seconds - during which it had undergone a time displacement while simultaneously withstanding corruption by the T-X's own polymimetic infiltration sheath.

It seemed that that 8.3% had sustained serious damage. A further diagnostic revealed that the direct plasma hit to her torso had obliterated 3.5% of her original mass, but she was still operating well within acceptable nano-processing limits as a whole. She was functional, she was intact, and she had destroyed the T-X.

_She had survived._

Now fully formed, Catherine looked down at her vanquished foe. The edge of her lips curled upwards, forming the faintest of smiles.

Within five minutes, Catherine had concealed and buried the T-X torso under a pile of concrete rubble and a burnt car chassis. Under the cover of darkness and an approaching fog, she trudged through the ruined landscape towards the sounds of the distant battle.

Two hours later, in an abandoned tunnel system, Catherine finally found a lone human. Silently, she approached from behind. As she got nearer, she noticed that the human was a female, holding an oil lamp. She appeared to be digging or searching for something in a pile of rubbish.

"Hello." Catherine said in as demure and soothing a voice she could muster when she got close enough.

The human female jerked her head up, a look of absolute fear on her face. She gave a little yelp as she did. The oil lamp swung crazily.

But almost as suddenly, her face broke into a smile, ""Geez! You freaking scared me! I thought you were a tin can… heh!"

"Tin can?"

"You know, the metals, the endos'… the scary robots. You're too small-sized to be one of them, I figure… plus, you're a girl."

"Is that so?"

"Those metals I've seen are always big, hulking types, always guys. Spot one a mile away. Anyway, I haven't seen a machine down in these tunnels in months."

"You'd be surprised what Skynet can do."

"Who are you anyway?" the girl asked, motioning to Catherine's immaculate black jumpsuit, "You're Resistance? You're pretty far from the front lines."

"I'm not from around here."

Catherine could now see the girl clearly. She had blonde flowing hair and a smudged face and hands. She was dressed in ragged layers of greasy, soiled clothing and mismatched, torn shoes. A drabby green slingbag swung loosely from one of her shoulders.

The girl turned her attention back to the rubbish pile. "Well, I don't go onto the surface much, anyhow. Besides, the rat hunting's good…."

"What is your name?"

"Riley. What's yours?" the girl chirped, still casually rummaging through the debris.

Catherine did not answer, replying instead with another question: "Riley, what year is it?"

"Huh? It's 2025."

A pause.

"Riley, do you know John Connor?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Good." Catherine's right hand shot out and grabbed Riley's wrist in a vice-like grip. "I need to show him something that will be of great interest to him."

"Hey, let go of me! LET GO OF ME!!!"

"Riley, do not struggle," Catherine dead-panned, staring at her. She was sure the human girl could feel the coolness of her polymimetic hand by now - tightly clamped around her wrist as it were.

Against Riley's wiggling, Catherine stood firmly in place and began hoisting her wrist higher and higher - till the girl was standing on the tips of her toes. She hoped this would be an adequate demonstration of her strength – and proof that she was not human – without having to resort to harming the girl.

The struggling suddenly paused. Then an expression of alarm, then unbridled terror crossed Riley's face as she gasped.

"OH MY GOD! You're a machine! Let go of me!!! Let go, you damn…" Riley dropped her oil lamp and it went out.

Catherine interjected, "I want to meet John Connor."

"I'll never help you get to him!" Riley cried as she swayed half-suspended in the gloom, trying in vain to writhe free of Catherine's grasp once more.

"Riley, do not struggle."

"Help! HELP!!! Somebody help me!!! Metal!!! METAL!!!"

"Riley, I need to show him something. You can show it to him on my behalf."

"I'll never help Skynet!"

"I am not Skynet," came the even reply.

_This is inefficient. More persuasive, forceful action is required,_ Catherine thought. With that, she dropped Riley roughly to the ground. As Riley lay sprawled on her back, winded and too scared to move, Catherine stepped on the rat-catcher's stomach with one foot. She then bent down and then pointed the index finger of each hand at the stricken girl. Her fingers hovered like that momentarily.

"Riley, you will do exactly as I say." Catherine said.

The next moment, the two fingers had extended to form thin spikes. Each penetrated Riley's torso just below her collarbones. As the metal tore through her flesh, Riley shrieked in shock and agony; waves of excruciating pain coursed from her shoulders to the rest of her body.

"AHHHHHHHHH!!! UGHHHHHH!!!"

The tips of the two liquid metal spikes had passed right through Riley and made contact with the concrete floor on which she lay: she was now pinned by Catherine's polymimetic index fingers. The liquid metal terminator leaned closer to the girl and said in a severe voice that was devoid of emotion, "I know this hurts. I want to find John Connor. You will help me."

"Go to hell,_ you metal bitch_!" Riley spat.

In response, Catherine withdrew her right finger-spike. She then pointed its blood-stained tip straight at Riley's face, extending it till it was less than an inch from her nose. As she did so, she twisted her remaining finger-spike still in Riley's shoulder. The girl let out a series of bloodcurdling screams that echoed down the dark, deserted tunnels.

But Catherine kept twisting. And twisting. Her left wrist swiveled slowly back and forth - with each twist and each painful, awful scream. Blood started spurting forth from the wound….

Twenty-eight minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Catherine had moved closer to her objective. It had taken longer than anticipated, but she had finally elicited the desired responses from Riley.

_Without killing her._

"STOP!!! Stop… please stop it! God… please I don't want to die…! Stop…." Riley was begging now, tears streaming down her cheeks, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was in extreme pain, and she had lost a lot of blood. Her arms and neck were streaked with blood. There were large blotches of blood on the floor. And her ragged clothes were soaked in blood.

"Is that so?" Catherine asked, her voice emotionless and harsh. "I could leave you here to die from blood loss."

"P… please… please," Riley painfully whimpered, "W… what do you want… m… me to do?!! Just stop… please stop hurting me!"

Catherine withdrew a spike from Riley's abdomen. She gripped the girl's face and jawline with her other hand and pushed her head hard against the tunnel floor - squishing her cheeks viciously against each other. Riley gasped in anguish and agony, not daring to struggle one bit now.

"Now," Catherine coldly whispered as she leaned in close and stared into Riley's tear-filled eyes, "listen to me very carefully."

---

1945hrs - July 27 2025

Nebraska Bunker – Resistance Forward Command Post

Lauren Fields, her medical grab bag in hand, raced down a darkened tunnel towards the sound of men shouting and dogs barking. She saw the three German Shepherds on leashes, barking their heads off as their minders fought to restrain them. Three more guards had gathered around the bunker entrance; all the men had their weapons pointed at something that lay on the floor just inside the entrance.

"Thank God you're here, Lauren… girl here's cut to ribbons - she's about to bleed out!" one of the guards hollered above the din the dogs were making.

"One of ours?"

"No. Looks like a civie… a rat-catcher."

The petite, bob-haired combat medic pulled up the sleeves of her baggy fatigues, then pushed her way through the throng of men. She got a closer look at the wounded figure - that of blonde female teenager - slumped in a puddle of water.

"We didn't see any metal following her…" one of the guards asked, his eyes nervously shifting between the entrance and the girl. "Dogs are still going crazy though. You sure she's…"

"Damn it, if she's bleeding out like you say, then she's not metal! And get those guns out of my face… help me drag her out of the water trap!" the slightly-built Lauren cursed as she struggled to move the injured girl.

Two of the Resistance troopers immediately slung their weapons and came forward to assist Lauren in moving the wounded girl to a dry spot. The remaining men sealed the bunker entrance and secured the guard dogs. Lauren began her diagnosis. She could see that the girl's clothes were wet from the puddle, and she had a slingbag draped over one shoulder. The girl was delirious and barely conscious.

"Give me some light!"

Soon after one of the guards flicked on his torchlight, Lauren opened her mouth in shock when she saw the girl's injuries. Blood seeped through holes in the girl's ragged clothing from deep stab wounds - in both her shoulders and her stomach. There were heavy bruises and abrasions to her neck, and her face was pale, almost corpse-like. Most disturbing of all were the bloody holes in the palms of both her hands – as if she someone had driven nails or spikes through them in an act of crucifixion. She was also missing some fingernails.

_The goddamn machines must have tortured her._

Lauren cupped the girl's swollen face gingerly with one hand, pushing her blonde locks out of the way.

"What's your name, kid?" Lauren asked loudly but gently, careful not to startle her patient. The dogs were still barking.

The bleeding girl's voice was weak, barely audible. "R… Riley…."

"Riley, my name's Lauren. You're gonna be OK now. Just stay with me."

"Connor… General Connor. He must know…"

_Connor? _Lauren was suddenly curious_. What did a tunnel-rat have to do with the boss_?

"Know what, Riley?"

"She… it's in here… now."

"What? Who's here?"

"To show him this…"

Riley held up her slingbag with her bleeding hands. Lauren quickly took hold of its strap, feeling its weight. There was something inside… something heavy.

"Inside it. She…it… she says Connor will understand." Riley whispered. Her head drooped onto Lauren's arm and she let out a long sigh.

Lauren instinctively felt for a pulse. _Still alive, but very weak… gotta get her transfused ASAP._

Lauren carefully propped Riley's head against her lap. She then slowly reached into the slingbag, and her fingers closed around something cold and hard - something metal. She lifted the object out with one hand, pulling away the slingbag with the other.

"What in God's name?!" one of the guards exclaimed as the object came into view. He involuntarily raised his plasma rifle and pointed it at Lauren. His fellow soldiers all stepped back in fright, swearing under their breaths. The dogs were still barking.

Lauren herself was too shocked to say anything – she was holding up an endoskeleton forearm.

---

90 minutes later

John Connor strode purposefully into the operations room, wearing a black T-shirt and fatigue trousers. He was closely followed by three heavily-armed men who comprised his security detail. An olive-skinned, bearded officer - wearing a nametag that read "Barnes" on his battle fatigues – stepped forward and crisply saluted. John returned his salute.

"Barnes," John acknowledged, even as his eyes scanned the room from where he stood – there was no one else present, "Talk to me."

"Sir, about one and a half-hours ago, a wounded civilian girl brought in something we've never seen before. Endo fragment… a very sophisticated one too. Looks like an arm, but with some add-ons… integrated weapons possibly." Barnes pointed to the endoskeleton forearm that lay on the chart table.

John's eyes narrowed as he walked over to the table. He inclined his face slightly and put his hands to his knees as he examined the forearm with a deepening scowl on his face.

Barnes continued. "The girl refused to say where she found it. She was cut up pretty bad too."

"Lauren take care of her?"

"She has, sir." Barnes nodded, "Techs have tested it: it's not a skin-job and it's clean… no explosives or transmitters. It sustained some combat damage – dings, scratches and the like; and there is some unusual residual radiation – negligible levels."

John nodded, still peering at the arm wordlessly for several seconds. He then whispered, "The bastards have been busy…"

He looked up and faced Barnes and the others, then spoke in an authoritative tone. "Battle damage? Advanced as it appears to be, what we need to know is: where did it come from? And how did it get this way – battle damage and all? It's obviously missing the rest of its body."

"The techs think it's a prototype, sir." Barnes replied, "Definitely not a Triple-8. From their preliminary tests, all we know is that it is made primarily out of some ceramic-metal alloy. Very hard, very strong."

"Stronger than titanium… stronger than coltan hyperalloy?" murmered John, "New? Or perhaps not? Our future has shifted yet again, Barnes."

At these words, John could see Barnes' face furrowing with anxiety. John knew that whenever he spoke cryptically - and especially when he referred to the audio recordings of his mother – his trusted right-hand man would get worried. _And his worry would certainly show on his face._

There was an awkward pause. Then, one of the security detail troopers - a muscular, brooding figure of a man clad in a dark blue jumpsuit - said, "John, if I may… this 'prototype' did not just appear. Skynet would not be this careless as to abandon a piece of endo out in the field for scavengers to collect – especially one as advanced as this."

John turned to address the man who had spoken. "True, Marcus. This sounds familiar, doesn't it? And we thought we knew our enemy…."

_The game has changed._

Just then, the soldier named Marcus whirled around to face the door to the room, unslinging his plasma rifle from his broad shoulder as he did.

"John, I heard something."

Everybody else in the room, John included, rapidly drew their weapons. The sound of rounds being chambered, slides being pulled back, and safeties being flicked off briefly filled the operations room.

Then John heard it. It was a squelching noise. A wet, slithering sound that seemed to come from one end of the room. It grew louder.

Then they all saw it. A section of the concrete tunnel floor moved. It distorted in shape and form, and a mound began to form at the centre of the misshapen grey puddle. The mound continued to grow and take a rough humanoid shape – arms, shoulders, a head… but no face, no head, and no eyes. It began changing from the dull hues of the floor, to the colour of mercury….

The nightmares of 30 years ago came rushing back to John. He knew what that thing taking shape before the unbelieving eyes of his men was.

_Liquid metal_. That was the term Uncle Bob had used to describe this prototype terminator.

John had witnessed the fearsome capabilities of this monstrosity, this bizarre – almost extraterrestrial – creation of Skynet, when he was just a 10 year-old boy. The stuff of bad dreams – dreams that no kid that age should have to endure.

And yet, here it was_. The nightmare made real once more_. It had nearly killed Uncle Bob, and it had nearly killed his mother as well. This machine that had coldly and ruthlessly hunted him down and had nearly terminated him all those years ago… was here. It had penetrated every line of the base's anti-infiltrator defenses and screening measures, and was now in the command center _with him and his men_.

Right now, death seemed only a few heartbeats away.

_Indeed, the game had changed._

"METAL!!!" one of the security detail men shouted, and immediately fired a three-shot burst from his pistol at the liquid metal figure.

"John, get down!" the man called Marcus yelled as he leveled his plasma rifle at the figure while placing himself between it and John. John immediately dropped onto one knee, but kept his own pistol trained on the liquid metal figure.

With a powerful swipe from one of its silvery tentacle-like arms, the figure hit the first man in the side of his face, sending him flying into Barnes. The blow sent the two soldiers sprawling across the room and knocked the both of them senseless. The liquid metal figure rapidly gained form, colour and texture – taking on the appearance of a raven-haired woman in a black jumpsuit.

---

Catherine knew that the three small-calibre bullets - although fired at close range - were essentially harmless; she allowed them to pass right through her head. Deciding not to kill the guard, she merely incapacitated him. The heavy blow he suffered would suffice, and had the bonus of causing the collateral incapacitation of another of Connor's men. Both the men's weapons had fallen out of their limp hands.

As the bullet holes in her head healed and closed up, Catherine turned her attention to the remaining men. One had positioned himself in front of John to shield him, hefting a plasma rifle as he did. The other had a shot-gun on a sling around his shoulder - he was not aiming that weapon at her, but instead held in his hands an electric stun-gun.

Of course, stun-guns were ineffective as well.

Catherine saw the man squeezing the stun-gun's trigger; she heard the two barbs piercing the air as they flew towards her, trailing thin wires behind them as they did; she felt the barbs as they sunk into the polyalloy of her upper chest, and the several thousand volts of current that coursed through them immediately after.

Within a fragment of a second, Catherine's nano-processors had gathered all these sensory data and ran their analyses through their paces - to deduce the next course of action….

_The threat was minimal, but this human needed to be incapacitated as well._

Catherine morphed her right hand into a blade, then extended and stabbed it deep into her assailant's left thigh. The current from the stun-gun redirected back into the man's body, causing him to convulse and collapse to the floor. The stun-gun clattered onto the floor as he lay there twitching, and – having lost control of his bladder function as a result of the electric shock – wet himself.

The last guard – the man John had addressed as Marcus - had brought his plasma rifle to his shoulder, ready to fire. Catherine immediately classified this action as a priority threat: she remembered the amount of damage the T-X had inflicted upon her mimetic polyalloy structure with its on-board plasma weapon.

_Serious damage - and possibly termination – could result if rounds from the plasma weapon found their mark_. Catherine surmised that it was imperative to meet Marcus' threat with immediate and appropriate action.

Swiftly, she withdrew her blade-arm from the stun-gun soldier, then jabbed it violently into the stocky chest of the man pointing the plasma rifle at her. The action was effective: the soldier was pushed backwards - a look of astonishment on his face - and he did not fire.

But as soon as her blade penetrated Marcus' flesh, Catherine's nano-processors picked up something else - a flurry of new, intriguing information. She felt a hardness, an inorganic texture within the man's torso. Metal.

Instantly, she knew the true nature of the person she had just stabbed.

Marcus was not a man, but not entirely a machine either.

He was a hybrid.

With her free arm, Catherine swiftly grabbed the plasma rifle from the stricken man-machine. In the next moment, she withdrew her blade from his chest. The hybrid stood his ground, but clutched at the open wound while looking at her with fire in his eyes.

"John Connor," Catherine said briskly, the plasma rifle in her hand now aimed straight at the hybrid's head, "I have a mission to complete."

Catherine had recognized John Connor the moment he walked through the door and _stood on her._ However, there were key differences between the Connor she had last seen in 2032 and this Connor. Apart from the obvious but minor variations of clothing and hairstyle, her nano-processors had picked up no less than 41 physical differences.

Chiefly, Connor did not have the distinctive wishbone-shaped running down his left brow and cheek. The Skynet barcode tattoo on this Connor's forearm was different. On this Connor, several new burn and shrapnel scars were present, while others were notably absent. This Connor did not have the long scar that ran down the centre of the previous Connor's chest (a souvenir from an emergency heart transplant surgery, she had found out).

And this Connor did not have a gold band around his left ring finger.

"You here to kill me?" came the gruff reply. She saw John had discarded his pistol in favour of a M79 grenade launcher, which was now pointed at her.

Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity as Catherine and John faced each other.

_This was a familiar situation…._

"No. You must live." Catherine lowered her weapon. "That is not why I am here."

John kept his weapon aimed. "I know what you are. I've seen your kind before…."

"No. I am not the same."

"Aren't you a T-1000? One of your type tried to kill me before…." As John said this, Marcus turned and looked up at him in disbelief.

"You know this thing?" the hybrid asked in an almost accusing tone.

"Not exactly, Marcus. It's complicated."

"Skynet's classifications are purely a matter of semantics, Mr. Connor. You seem to know what I am. I _am_ what I am." Catherine eloquently parried away John's inquiry.

John raised an eyebrow slightly, then said, "You followed the civilian girl here." It was not a question.

Catherine nodded in the direction of the T-X's forearm. "I came here to tell you more about where _that_ came from. I am sure you will be intrigued by what I have to say."

John stared for several seconds at Marcus, then at Catherine, as if unsure what to do. Finally, he growled.

"Tell me then,"

* * *


	4. Trust Issues

_A/N1: This chapter is just one continuous long scene. It's somewhat shorter than the previous chapters, but it helps explain some of the post- J-Day backstory of John Connor in this version of the timeline._

_A/N2: The principle of objects/people populating a timeline branch - created by a single rip in space/time – is summarily explained by Catherine. She is just beginning to understand how causal events in the past led to a different Judgment Day._

_

* * *

_

2119hrs - July 27, 2025

Nebraska Bunker – Resistance Forward Command Post

Barnes sat up, recovering from the mild concussion he had just suffered. His head hurt like hell. As his eyes slowly gained focus, he found himself looking into the face of Marcus.

"Hey Lonnie, look sharp. We got a situation here."

Marcus was clutching his chest wound; blood was seeping through his fingers and staining the front of his jumpsuit.

"What the hell happened…?" Barnes mumbled.

Then he heard the John Connor's voice cut through his fog of disorientation. "Barnes? You back amongst the living?"

Barnes swiveled his head around, then he saw John… and that female-looking… _thing _standing there – looking at each other. He glanced to the floor and saw Bird kneeling, holding his jaw while groaning in agony; Wells lay next to him, still knocked out cold.

"Sir? What's going on?" Barnes started to rise to his feet, picking up his plasma rifle as he did. He was about to point it at the female infiltrator, but Marcus quickly held up his hand and shook his head at him. _No shooting._

Marcus spoke, "First we gotta get Bird and Wells to the infirmary."

"Marcus, I am putting you in-charge of the safety and welfare of Bird and Wells as of now." John ordered. His eyes and weapon still trained on the female figure in front of him. "The three of you are to observe strict protocol about the events that just occurred in this room… need to know only. When Wells comes around, you tell him that, alright? Am I clear?"

"But John, that thing…"

Like Barnes, Marcus feared for John's safety. Both of them were thoroughly confused, and neither of them relished the idea of the general remaining in the same room as this strange and frightening liquid metal infiltrator.

"_Go now_, Marcus. You all know the drill. We're not at 'condition one' yet, but pretty close. Call it a 'two'."

"Yes… sir." Marcus now used John's proper appellation, and Barnes noticed the grim look on his face as he said it. Bird looked up and nodded groggily, still holding one hand to his head.

John directed his next question at Barnes: "Barnes, can you stand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you shoot?"

"Yes sir."

"Outstanding. I want you to stay here with our… visitor… and myself. She and I have things to talk about."

Barnes was now on his feet – his hands firmly gripping his plasma rifle - unsure of what to do next. His eyes darted uneasily between John, Marcus, and the female machine.

Meanwhile, Marcus walked over to the unconscious Wells, then effortlessly picked him up and slung him gently over one shoulder. Bird, still clutching his head, shakily stood up and leaned onto Marcus' other shoulder. They began making their way to the door.

"Hey, you look like hell. You sure you…?" Barnes whispered. He could see the gleam of metal in Marcus' bloody chest wound.

"It's just a scratch." Marcus muttered. He reached the door, then unlatched and opened it. As soon as it swung open, he came face-to-face with two soldiers brandishing assault rifles.

One of them attempted to push past Marcus, yelling, "Is General Connor safe? What's going on? We heard shouts! And shots fired!"

Barnes looked in the direction of John. Astonishingly, the machine had somehow _disappeared_. It was just John, standing there, a grenade launcher in his hands, facing… nothing.

_How the hell was that even possible? The machine had vanished from view just as mysteriously as it had appeared in the room!_ Barnes stood speechless, thinking for a moment that he was either drunk or hallucinating. _Did I hit my head and somehow dreamt up that liquid metal woman?_

John, still facing in the direction where the machine had been standing, lied smoothly and without hesitation, "We had a mishap during our briefing here, Sergeant. An accidental discharge of a firearm. These men are seriously hurt. Please escort them to the infirmary at once. That will be all."

"But sir, it looks like…" the sergeant glanced at the weapons Barnes and John were holding, confused.

"_I said_ that will be all, Sergeant." There was now an edge in John's raised voice, but he still did not turn to face the soldier.

The sergeant quickly nodded, then put an arm around Bird and guided him out of the room ahead of Marcus and Wells. His colleague closed and locked the door behind them.

---

"So, you're obviously not here to kill me." John utterance sounded almost disappointed. He set his grenade launcher down beside the forearm resting on the table, tension and anticipation lining his brows.

"Correct, Mr. Connor. If that had been my mission, I would have done so as soon as you had entered this room." Catherine tersely replied. Soon after Marcus had left the room, she had rematerialized, and now casually occupied a chair beside the table. She sat, legs crossed, an expression of slight bemusement on her face.

John frowned at her words. He cleared his throat and said, "Nonetheless, I hope you understand Barnes' presence… and his weapon," John gestured to Barnes, "as a security precaution."

"I respect a man who makes it his policy to implement contingencies, Mr. Connor. As a mark of my sincerity, I shall comply with your contingencies," Catherine said, "no matter how effective you perceive them to be."

"Then let me be clear about one thing: even if you kill us both, don't think for one moment that you will be able to leave this room intact and functional. My men will follow what they have been trained to do if that were to happen."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Connor?"

"I'm just one man. The Resistance is bigger than me, and it will live on and fight… even if I am no more. And you will just be a mound of metal slag."

Several long seconds passed in silence as John and Barnes locked eyes with their liquid metal guest. John finally spoke.

"So you trust the Resistance? Trust my men and myself? Trust in us that we will not burn you where you sit?"

John knew that Marcus had already initiated the security breach and counter-assassination drills they had so often rehearsed. Those drills involved Marcus alerting the rest of the bunker occupants, evacuating non-combatants, and then leading and arming all available remaining personnel. They would then secure all available exits, locate and isolate any infiltrator within the underground command complex, and - with the generous use of plasma rifles, incendiary grenades, and high-calibre depleted uranium ammunition - it would be deactivated, if not destroyed.

As long as Marcus was alive and still operational, there was no chance that this liquid metal machine would escape unscathed – even if John himself was dead.

_Hell, Marcus had probably every available plasma rifle in this bunker trained on the door to this very room right now._

"I've made my choice, Mr. Connor. Taken my chance… and here I am. More crucially: do you trust me?"

John did not answer Catherine's question, and instead asked one of his own. "How should I address you… Ms…?"

"Call me Catherine."

"Well Catherine, let's us… cut to the chase." John said. He took two steps closer to Catherine, seemingly without fear for the liquid metal machine.

"As we should, Mr. Connor." Catherine affirmed.

"Where are you from?"

"Not where. _When_. I'm from the year 2032."

"Right. And who sent you? Did I send you here from the future?"

"No, future-you did not do that. Circumstances… obliged me to travel here, somewhat by accident. For what it is worth, I do not regret it."

"And this forearm here," John pointed, "that's from the future too?"

"It belongs to an advanced infiltrator called the T-X." Catherine replied.

"Tell me more about this… T-X."

"Even better, Mr. Connor - I can show it to you. At least, what's left of it."

But if John had been surprised by this revelation, his face did not betray it.

"So you brought this thing, this T-X with you from 2032?"

"A human Resistance soldier and myself fought it during a time displacement sequence. It was… decapitated as it went across time."

"So you have the body?"

"Affirmative. The T-X's head remains in the future. Unfortunately," Catherine gave a sigh that implied annoyance, "its left forearm was transported even further back across time."

"Go on."

"Just before the time displacement occurred, I noted the exact date it was transported back to. It was significant in that it was the eve of Judgment Day - 24th of July, 2004."

John did not answer right away. Instead, he inclined his head slightly and sighed, a pained expression briefly flashing across his brooding face. He looked as if he was recollecting some long-forgotten and hurtful memory. His next words were almost inaudible, "That date… my dear God……"

"Yes. Judgment Day. The day Skynet attacked humanity."

"Not that date, Catherine." John was slowly shaking his head. "It was later."

Now it was Catherine's turn to experience confusion. It was an exceptionally rare sensation… one that did not sit easily with her data processing protocols.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Connor?"

John muttered, "It was much later…"

Understanding began to dawn on Catherine. _The effect of the T-X's arm arriving in 2004 had somehow disrupted the continuity of the original timeline._ She was now on an entirely different timeline. No wonder this Connor's physical appearance was so different from the Connor she had met in 2032. Catherine had archived data of significant battles and troop movements across the Los Angeles area of operations during 2025. But in the two days she had spent locating Connor's whereabouts – aided by Riley, she found that only a few of them seemed to match up with the _current, actual _front line positions. In particular, Resistance emplacements and command posts seemed to have shifted position. Bunkers that were occupied were now empty or destroyed, while other bunkers seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

People, occurrences and actions in time and space had been altered. The temporal branch that was the _her original past_, the history of events as her memory banks had recorded them to be – had dissolved into oblivion.

_Change one thing. Change everything._

"Mr. Connor… I understand now what has happened." said Catherine.

"What do you understand?"

"Tell me, if it was not July 25th, 2004… then when _did_ Judgment Day occur?"

"April 21st, 2011. I thought… I thought you would know this." John's eyes narrowed in puzzlement… _or was it suspicion_?

"Impossible, Mr. Connor. I cannot know something that did not occur."

"So, what you're saying is… where you're from, there was a different Judgment Day to our Judgment Day."

"Correct. You and I have different pasts. It seems the T-X's other arm appearing in 2004 may have a part in this."

John stood silent for a few seconds, the same pained expression still on his face.

Catherine broke the impasse. "Mr. Connor, are you aware of The Butterfly Effect?"

"A small disturbance leading to a seemingly unassociated but much bigger disturbance."

"Affirmative. Just like ripples in a pond, Mr. Connor. That arm did not animate itself and go in search of you, but it _did_ something to the timeline nonetheless." Catherine leaned back in her chair and folded her arms in a gesture of confidence. Her analyses had led her to the most plausible explanation, and she now hoped to convince the man standing before her of it. She continued explaining.

"Time displacement equipment works on the principle of creating rips, or tears in space and time. When a tear opens up, an object sent to an earlier time brings about certain causal events. Subsequent objects that go through the same rip, but displaced to a later date… will be subject to _those_ causal events."

"So you're saying that the future could have been different if that… thing's arm did not appear in 2004?"

"Correct. Call it a chain reaction of sorts."

"But you never wanted to come to 2025, to our time, did you?"

Catherine nodded. "It was not a matter of choice for me; it was a matter of survival. But what I am more interested in is you, Mr. Connor. You are the catalyst to all that has happened, and all that will happen.

"Something happened in 2004 that caused the postponement of Judgment Day… at least from _my _perspective. Its effect created a new timeline - the one which you now consider true and unaltered from _your_ perspective." Catherine was now staring directly at John, "I want to know how that occurred."

---

John Connor often thought about what other people saw in him. His soldiers regarded him as the Resistance figurehead: a stoic, charismatic, decisive, knowledgeable and resourceful leader. To them, John Connor represented strength, hope and direction in a world gone mad.

But John knew something else. He knew that although the Resistance placed its trust in him, a wave of unease and disquiet rippled beneath that trust. People knew their General was not much of a talker in private; that he often kept to himself, and hardly confided in anyone about his uncanny understanding of Skynet technology and strategy. Because of this, there had been a degree of fear and suspicion amongst the ranks of those directly under John's command. Rumours and hearsay about himself abounded in both the military and civilian populace.

Some said he could predict the future… that he had actually foreseen the war that now raged across the remnants of civilization. There was even talk that he was some sort of Messianic figure - the key to humanity's salvation - spreading amongst some of the more religiously-inclined individuals. By far the most intriguing anecdote was that John Connor's mother had been attacked by Skynet before he was even born. She had survived – the legendary, almost mythical warrior woman that she was - and spent the remainder of her life preparing her child to fight the war, _this war_. Of all the stories circulating, this last account about his life was the one that John could not deny.

But John also saw in himself an aspect that no one else saw. He saw his own bitterness and isolation, and how he was unable to share these burdens with anyone. It was not just the challenges of leadership or the curse of foreknowledge, but John's own past which weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

Indeed, he had his share of friends amongst his comrades. A few of them were close confidants, and even fewer were those he trusted with his life. Over the years, as Connor had risen through the ranks to assume command of the Resistance, he had gained their loyalty and respect, fought alongside them, and even watched a few of them die.

But he never told them about his past – about its dark secrets that continued to plague his memory and haunt him in the form of nightmares in his sleep. He never let anyone know how before all this - before he had been forced to stand and fight - he had tried to run and hide.

To escape his fate.

All his adult life, John Connor had found escape easy – it was what he did; what his mother, Sarah Connor, had taught him. He had escaped FBI custody within two weeks of Kate Brewster's death in 2004, boldly evading a state-wide manhunt. He had escaped the nuclear fallout when the bombs fell in 2011, hiding out with his mother's contacts in Baja. He had escaped enslavement by the machines in 2021, remaining incognito even while imprisoned at Century Sector Work Camp and eventually breaking out with Kyle Reese. He had even escaped death in the form of Marcus Wright, the human-machine hybrid that was enslaved by Skynet to lure him back into its clutches.

He ran. It was what he did.

But the one thing he could not escape was the guilt he felt for causing the death of Kate Brewster. That guilt gnawed at his conscience. She was long dead – spared the horrors of Judgment Day and the war against the machines by his own hand – but he could not evade the fact that she was the first person he had ever killed. Killed because of his desperation and recklessness. Killed because he was too scared to face up to what he would become. Killed because his destiny seemed too much to face up to.

But facing up to it was what he did eventually. He had done the best he could, although some small part of him wished he could do better.

Right now, facing Catherine and her probing questions, John's guilt resurfaced as the memories of Kate's death started catching up with him.

With a tremble in his voice, John Connor began telling Catherine about the day Kate died.

---

Barnes had listened intently - alternating between being shocked and enthralled – as John Connor told the story of the first person he had ever killed.

Barnes had already heard many stories about General Connor about the time before he was leader of the Resistance - passed down mostly through idle civilian banter. The earliest tale he recalled involved John's return to the ruins of LA from the south, leading a guerilla convoy stocked with weapons, ammunition and anti-radiation medicine. John had an alias then, but it seemed so long ago that Barnes had forgotten the name he took.

What Barnes did remember was the story of how the civilians - the ones John found and lived amongst - initially survived; living hand-to-mouth like hunted animals amidst the tunnels and basements of the destroyed city. He remembered when Skynet began taking human captives, and the story of how one particularly large seizure of captives in 2015 included John himself. He remembered those dark years following the incident, when all hope had seemed lost and the human race seemed on the brink of extinction.

But Barnes also remembered the news he heard, one day in 2021, of a huge breakout of prisoners from a work camp called Century, led by no less than John himself. He heard the inspiring and morale-boosting sagas of how John then reinvigorated the Resistance movement and started inflicting mounting losses upon Skynet's forces.

Shortly after, Barnes decided to put an end to the anecdotes and second-hand accounts that the civilian rumour mongers had been churning out about John Connor. He joined up with the Resistance to see for himself what John Connor was all about.

Still, now, hearing John himself recount this new story was a novel experience for Barnes – _and with a liquid metal terminator as audience, of all damn things_. But all that paled in comparison to what _she… it_ had to say next.

---

"In my timeline, Katherine Brewster marries you. She becomes your closest advisor and eventually takes over leadership of the Resistance."

John contemplated the gist of Catherine's revelation. Had he been twenty, or even ten years younger, he would have just blurted out the obvious question that was now on his mind. But he knew better – he understood what her words implied.

"_Takes over". Meaning: I was replaced. Reason: I was killed._

"I… my future-self. I was killed, wasn't I?"

"Yes." The reply was curt, emotionless.

"How did it happen?"

"A model T-850 infiltration unit was sent by Skynet to terminate and replace the one that you had captured and reprogrammed."

_T-850? Never heard of that model series before,_ John thought briefly. _An upgrade of Uncle Bob?_ He was shaken by this revelation, but was simultaneously glad for it.

"Skynet… replaced one its own terminators with another, just to assassinate me?"

"It was not Skynet's anymore. You had it reprogrammed; it was a Resistance asset. I believe that particular model – including its infiltration sheath - was chosen for replacement because of the emotional attachment you developed during your boyhood experience with it."

John's normally stoic face twisted into a mask of dismay - he looked as if he had been punched in the stomach. Barnes looked away, unsure of what to say.

"And you… are you reprogrammed as well?"

"No."

John's expression hardened once more. "Then how do I know that everything you've said so far is the truth?" His hand appeared to move towards the grenade launcher slightly.

"You don't. I am prepared to show you what you need to know, and you are better off alive than dead for it." Catherine replied. "As I have mentioned previously, you are the catalyst. Skynet takes particular interest in you- in the past, now, and in the future. By extension, so must I. My termination would be… disadvantageous to you and the Resistance cause."

"Are you running from Skynet? Is this what this is all about?"

"No one can run from Skynet, Mr. Connor. I'm sure you know that by now. Like you, I must live to see this through."

"See what through?"

"The destruction of Skynet."

John was silently impressed that this liquid metal machine, having never been reprogrammed, could be so forthcoming with information, formulate such succinct reasoning, and speak so brazenly about the AI that created her. Of course, a large portion of his instincts remained unconvinced that Catherine's intentions were genuine. But he found himself unable to discount the fact that perhaps… _just perhaps_….

"So what are you going to do now?" he asked her.

"There are many things about your future which I presently am unable to tell you about." Catherine gestured with one hand. "Already much has changed from the timeline I was from. What I can tell you Mr. Connor is this: we have a common enemy – in this timeline as well as in others. You have been fighting your whole life against Skynet. While your campaigns have been effective, I believe Skynet remains a foe that cannot be defeated using conventional weapons or means."

Catherine picked up a pencil and began writing on one of the maps spread out on the chart table. "I am writing down the coordinates and directions for locating the site where the T-X is buried. Take whatever number of men you deem necessary for its recovery."

"And I am to take your word for it? That this is not some kind of ambush set-up or a suicide mission?" John questioned.

"You had best start believing me now, Mr. Connor… for both our sakes." Catherine replied softly, a faint trace of menace in her voice.

John came over to where Catherine was seated, picking up the M79 grenade launcher as he did. He looked at the map and said, "Alright. But even so, how can you guarantee the safety of my people? What's to stop a patrolling machine from attacking them as they make their way to the site, or as they make their way back here?"

"There are no guarantees I can make. Risk is inherent, but I believe, as you believe, that you must see the T-X with your own eyes in order to authenticate the truth of my claims. I will be watching your soldiers, but I will not contact them if it can be helped. No harm will befall them from the ground; I cannot give you my word with regards to Skynet's aerial units though." with that, Catherine put down the pencil.

"The HKs," John hissed. He studied the map and Catherine's notes once more, then added, "OK, this area has several basements and an abandoned tunnel complex. We can still make it to the site underground most of he way. The sector has been pretty undisturbed lately anyway. I can assemble a recovery party to head out tomorrow night."

"Good. I shall be waiting on the surface."

"Awesome," John affirmed, somewhat sarcastically.

"I think we are done for tonight, Mr. Connor. I will contact you as soon as the T-X's body has been moved to a secure Resistance location and examined by your technicians and scientists – who no doubt will be highly interested in its origins, construction, and capabilities."

John just nodded. He walked over to the ops room exit and rapped on the door with the muzzle of the grenade launcher. "Connor here. We're coming out."

He heard someone shout a reply behind the door, "Authenticate password: Peaches."

"Password is 'Pears'," John shouted back, "Stand-down from 'condition two' and resume normal. But keep your weapons on us."

"Aye, sir," came the reply from behind the metal door. This was followed by the muffled sounds of locks unlatching and the shuffling of boots.

"I shall speak to you again soon, Mr. Connor." Catherine said as she strode towards the door. Barnes – still clutching his plasma rifle - fell into step behind, but still kept a fair distance between himself and her.

John opened the door. He was greeted by the sight of Marcus brandishing not one, but _two_ plasma rifles – one in each hand. Apart from the slightly bloody bandage that was visible through the half-open chest zipper of his jumpsuit, the hybrid soldier appeared none the worse for wear. John also recognized the bunker's base security T-888 immediately behind Marcus, armed with a shotgun and a plasma rifle. 'Chris', as this reprogrammed male metal had been named, was staring at Catherine with an overtly curious expression.

_Probably the first time the poor bastard's seeing liquid metal_, John thought. _His visual and bio-imaging sensors must be going all kinds of bonkers._

A dozen human Resistance fighters - many of them clad in armored vests and helmets - formed two lines behind Marcus and the T-888 Chris. All their weapons – plasma rifles for the most part, although John could see a few of them holding taser stun-guns – were drawn; they all looked towards him, Catherine, and Barnes now with expectant and apprehensive eyes. He knew that there were a fair few more soldiers along the way to the bunker exit, all of them having been hastily but effectively organized into four-person squads or 'fire teams' - as per the base's anti-infiltration measures.

"Marcus, come with us please," John said, "Chris, you too."

Marcus nodded once, then fell into step beside Catherine. Chris did the same alongside Barnes, keeping his shotgun aimed at the small of the female machine's back.

John led the way down the corridors past the fire teams, nodding in silent acknowledgement of their responsiveness and dedication as he did. Marcus signaled with his hand as they passed each group, and the men and women lowered their weapons before standing to attention on either side as John and his entourage proceeded towards the bunker exit. When they reached it, John turned to Marcus and the T-888.

Marcus immediately understood, and said, "Chris and I can take it from here, John. We will escort our… um… guest topside."

"Carry on, and thank you."

* * *

_A/N3: Lonnie: this is a reference to Common (the actor who played Barnes in T: Salvation) and his real birth name._

_A/N4: 'Chris': even in this timeline, it seems the Resistance has not gotten over the peculiar habit of giving reprogrammed metal first names beginning with 'C'._

_A/N5: Riley: she does not seem like the sort of character to be killed off too early. She'll be back! But not as you know it._


	5. When The Fall Came

_A/N1: I enjoy referencing minor characters (even if their names appear briefly in TSCC or the movie franchise), as well as character names from other late, great sci-fi series, Battlestar Galactica and Firefly/Serenity. _

_A/N2: As was the case in 2032, the 2025 version of Allison Young in this timeline is smart, proactive, and part of the scientific arm of the Tech-Com formation. Allison and her colleagues have an affinity with machines, electronics and biology, and wear silver bracelets – 'nuff said! _

* * *

1953hrs - July 28, 2025

Eagle Rock Bunker – Resistance Tech-Com Barracks

First Lieutenant Malcolm Sumner was almost done kitting himself out for tonight's mission. He pulled his beanie tight over his curly dark hair, then checked his Westinghouse M27 plasma rifle and battle webbing a final time. Satisfied, he turned to the seven men assembled chit-chatting in a loose group in the dim tunnel corridor. Like him, they were armed primarily with plasma rifles and dressed in a mish-mash of drab-coloured military and civilian garb – coats, sweaters, scarves, cargo pants, and sturdy boots. Two of the soldiers hefted large-calibre anti materiel sniper rifles – Barrett M82A1s.

Their murmuring drew to a stop as Sumner began to speak.

"Alright, like I said earlier in the briefing, this ain't gonna be a regular night patrol. The time-span for this mission is open-ended, but should take no longer than 48 hours. It's time I told you guys that we got orders to link up with someone from Nebraska Bunker."

"Sir," one of the men raised his gloved hand, "Is it metal?"

Sumner paused a moment before replying, "Yes."

A collective groan resounded throughout the squad of soldiers.

One of them made his concerns known in no uncertain terms. "What if the thing goes loco' on us? I'd rather take my chances in the junkyard without it."

Sumner pressed his lips into a thin smile, suppressing his mild irritation at the impetuous comment. "Look, I don't like it any more than you guys do, but the mission and all its parameters come right from the top… from Connor himself," he retorted. He could see the unease on the faces of his troopers.

Another soldier held up his arm, "Sir, why the hell do we need a tin can tagging along?"

Sumner knew the orders from Nebraska were to keep things small in number and low-key. _That was the whole point of being SOC – special operations capable – wasn't it?_ Which suited him – he did not want to risk any more men than was necessary for what could turn out to be a wild goose chase. A tin can, for all its superior battlefield capabilities, was also expendable; his men were not.

"Same reason why we're carrying that combat stretcher with us. Apparently we have to recover and possibly evacuate somebody, or _some body_." Sumner explained, emphasizing the last two words. "It might come in handy if there's any heavy lifting to be done. And we are going a fairly long way from camp after all. Any more questions?"

The men were silent.

"Alright," Sumner declared, "the sun is setting; lots of cloud and fog forecast. We go topside in ten. Night's gonna be a long one."

---

Same time

Pasadena-Caltech Tunnel Complex – Resistance Tech-Com Research Facility

Corporal Allison Young, sixteen, whipped the headset from her ears and bolted out of the radio room. The slim, brown-haired girl made her way down musty underground hallways lined with filing cabinets and shelves of books. She was on her way to the mess hall to find her friend, and she had something important to tell him.

Entering the hall, Allison could not help noticing, with some embarrassment, the party decorations her fellow techs had hung about the area. Her birthday celebration had taken place a week ago, but someone had not bothered to take down the recycled reflective cellophane streamers and a crudely-scrawled cloth banner that read "HAPPY 16TH, ALLISON!" pasted above the mess hall doors.

Allison sighed in slight exasperation, then resumed her search. There were only a few people in the mess hall at this time of evening, and she quickly spotted her quarry. He was a grizzled, dark-bearded, middle-aged man in a dark sweater and baggy trousers, sitting in a battered wheelchair, eating at a table alone. He was spooning some lumpy algae broth from a dented mess plate into his mouth. Approaching him, Allison could see that some of the flecks of broth had dripped onto the hairs on his chin. A sawn-off Mossberg 500 shotgun rested in a holster bolted to the left side of the wheelchair.

"Eric! Eric!" Allison called, flashing a smile at the wheelchair-bound man, "Something came up!"

Eric looked up from his meal and returned her smile with one of his own. "Ah, Ms. Young… bright and cheery as always. What brings you here to distract me from this… unappetizing yet nutritious slop?"

Allison's face turned serious, although a cheerful lilt still hung on her voice. "I got a transmission from the front… Nebraska Bunker. It's a priority transmission from General Connor himself."

"Alright. What's this about?"

"Connor says there's a squad expected to arrive at Eagle Rock Bunker in the next 24 to 48 hours. They have a package they want us to examine. He also says that all available techs are to be on stand-by there, and to prep our diagnostic and scanning kits."

Allison looked expectantly towards Eric Boykins. He was the most experienced tech and held the top civilian post in the Caltech facility. Many saw him as the unofficial show-runner, even though the place was formally under John Connor's direct command. Bone cancer had robbed him of the use of his legs before Judgment Day, but Eric still possessed a keen mind and an almost photographic memory - he had been a history post-graduate before the bombs fell. By the luckiest (or cruelest, as most J-Day survivors would have asserted) of circumstances, the remission of his illness and his continuing survival - from both nuclear fallout and the machines - dictated that he now devote his intellect to the study of science – specifically, the science of Skynet.

Eric spooned another mouthful of gruel into his mouth and swallowed. "Mmm… OK," he said, "that could be serious. Probably means someone's captured something interesting. And they want us to have a look at it. Tell me Alli, which senior techs do we have on-base now?"

"Cullie and a couple of the junior techs are on detachment with the boss on the front," Allison replied, "but we still have Barbara, Kendo and Xander from Chip-tech, Morris from Engineering… and Docs Lyman and Burnet from Bio-tech."

"How about Clive," Eric asked, "Cullie's younger brother? He around?"

"Yes."

"Good, he'll… be useful. Smart kid… smart, yet dumb on occasion…. I want him around… when the package arrives… especially if it's a new endo or something." Eric said between the last mouthfuls of his meal.

"Um… sure. I need to report to Major Hall now, Eric. He'll decide the final roster for Eagle Rock. But I'll keep an eye out for Clive."

Eric rolled his eyes and said in a playfully knowing tone, "Yeah, you _always _keep an eye out for that boy."

"Hey! We're _just_ friends!"

"Kidding Alli, just kidding."

"General Connor wouldn't be too pleased if he knew you were constantly making fun of his junior techs." Allison gave Eric a mock frown.

"Being me… has its privileges. Plus, haven't you heard? The Resistance has a disability pension set up just for me." He replied with a grin, and put down his spoon.

"Yesssss… sir, whatever you say. But first," Allison picked up Eric's spoon and plate, "let me clear this up for you OK?"

"Charming, as always, Ms. Young. You have my unequivocal gratitude." Eric sighed.

"You're welcome. I'll meet you down at Diagnostics after seeing the Major."

"OK."

Allison went over to the dish disposal counter while Eric backed his wheelchair away from the table. As he approached the exit of the mess hall, he spun around and called to Allison.

"Hey! One more thing, Alli…"

"What, boss?"

"When you have the time, please get someone to take those down," Eric smirked, pointing to the banner and bunting above the doorway.

---

24 hours later - 2005hrs - July 29 2025

Rodeo Drive

Sumner clambered out of the manhole, then walked up to the figure standing in the darkness of the rubble-strewn street.

"Chris," he whispered.

The T-888 nodded once and said, "Yes. How are you tonight, Lieutenant Sumner?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Come on, my boys are waiting."

Without another word, Sumner led Chris to a demolished shop-front where the rest of his squad was waiting in the gloom. As he walked, he waved a signal to the two men hiding on the opposite side of the street with the Barrett sniper rifles. They were providing cover for him – and they could stand down now. When the whole squad was assembled safely under cover, some of the human soldiers gave Chris dirty looks, but he paid them no heed and proceeded to update Sumner on the mission.

"Sir, my orders are for me to assist with the recovery of the package, and to proceed with you to wherever it is to be dropped off. I was informed that you have the exact coordinates of the site where the package is located; we have to locate it quickly." Chris said.

"No kiddin'. But first: are you alone? No one tailed you?"

"Affirmative," came Chris' dead-panned answer.

"Fine, we're about half a mile off from the recovery site. Let's hustle, people."

The eight men and one machine moved off. None of them were aware that Catherine – currently disguised as a half-collapsed section of old brick wall – was watching their every move and interaction. She had followed Chris all the way from Nebraska Bunker, disguising herself as various bits of debris and rubble along the way. She was sure the T-888 had detected her presence, but somehow he chose to ignore her and not report her presence to the eight human soldiers. Regardless, it was of no consequence to her - she would continue tailing the group.

Ten minutes later, Catherine observed as the squad gathered around a non-descript pile of rubble atop a burnt-out car chassis. Sumner pointed to it. "This is it, boys. You three… provide cover with Chris here. The rest of us will dig it out."

They did not have to dig far. Sumner almost gave a yelp of surprise when his eyes spotted the dark gleam of the T-X's combat chassis.

"Some package…. Seems like someone buried an endo here for us to find." Sumner said nonchalantly. His troopers saw it too. Their curiosity piqued, they continued uncovering the combat chassis, then placed it on the combat stretcher. The headless torso appeared rather damaged, and it was missing both forearms at the elbow.

"Sir?" one of the soldiers asked, "We taking this thing back to Eagle Rock? Then someone gonna take it away to Connor's base?"

"That's the way the General must have planned it." Sumner replied with a nod. Sumner also understood General Connor's need for keeping everything on an Area-51-ish, need-to-know basis. Bringing this torso directly to the Connor camp – _wherever the hell it was_ – might compromise its location and its personnel. Having a team of techs inspect it in a satellite base or bunker was an effective precaution against this; the Resistance could never be too sure when it came to possible hidden tracking devices in captured Skynet hardware, plus the ever present threat of Grays.

"Doesn't look like a Triple-8, sir," another trooper piped in, "too slim, looks almost female."

From her hiding spot, Catherine saw Chris stride over and stare silently at the headless, armless torso for a few seconds – scanning it. She had moved the torso to this location but had not bothered about the polymimetic alloy puddle that had been left behind. It lacked the independent nano-processing functions she herself possessed. It had seeped into the cracked, rubble-strewn ground and had become inert in the absence of the master neural net residing in the T-X's head - it would not pose a threat. The T-X's torso was a different matter though.

Catherine heard Chris announce in a low voice, "This endoskeleton does not match any model or series of combat chassis in my database. It is an unknown cyborg."

The torso was put in a body bag. Chris and two other men then hoisted the stretcher with it on top.

"We'll find out soon enough back at base. Come on," Sumner said, "we have to lug this bag of bolts back, and I want to make our 48-hour deadline. Let's hurry before the sun comes up."

Chris nodded, then offered a Terminator-esque observation, "The sun will rise in 10 hours, 11 minutes, and 5 seconds' time."

Catherine continued tailing them.

---

Same time

Eagle Rock Bunker – Resistance Tech-Com Barracks

A sleepy-faced guard – dressed in camo pants, a ragged T-shirt and lazily toting an M4 carbine - raised the bar from the metal bunker door. The door swung open to reveal a single man dressed in military fatigues, carrying a plasma rifle and a backpack.

"Little early, tin can… but we've been expecting you. You come from Nebraska Bunker?" the guard drawled.

"Yes. We have a package for priority examination."

"Hmmm, fine. Dogs are locked away… didn't want them causing a racket over some new endo and you. Anyway, the techs from Connor's base are already here. They're waiting…" the man said as he waved him in. He could see the silhouettes of other men gathered some distance behind the first soldier.

The guard ignored the lead soldier as he walked past and started to speak again, his eyes trying to pick out someone he thought he recognized in the group of soldiers: "Hey, Sumner! That you back there? This guy's…"

The lead soldier canted his head to the side and smiled. "Thank you for your time," he said, and suddenly grabbed the guard's neck with a gloved hand. With his other hand, he snatched away the carbine. With a deft squeeze and twist, the sound of cracking spine bones was heard. The man's neck went limp; he died before he could even scream.

The soldier dropped his victim to the floor, then his eyes glowed briefly with a devilish red flash; so did the eyes of the other eight behind him. They were indeed soldiers, but not of the human variety – they were Skynet infiltrators.

Eagle Rock was overrun in less than fifteen minutes by the nine T-888s who had masqueraded as Tech-Com troops. One-third of the barrack's hundred-strong Tech-Com deployment – including Sumner's squad - was out on night patrol and various deployments; the remainder died as they sat eating or in their bunks as they slept. Some of the soldiers managed to get to their weapons, but to no avail: the machines made short work of them - with the loss of only one of their number and light-to-moderate damage to the others. The barrack's refugee population did not put up much of a fight either; what few survivors there were fled from the scene of the massacre through various hidden burrows and ventilation ducts. But the machines came not only to kill; they were here to capture as well.

---

"RUN, ALLISON!!! Save yourself!" Eric Boykins yelled as he lay sprawled on the briefing room floor. He had been thrown from his wheelchair by one of the rampaging T-888s, and could only crawl feebly - his legs useless – in an attempt to get away from the machine. Eric had long ago used up all his shotgun rounds on the first infiltrator that had smashed the makeshift barricade he, Allison, and a few other techs had made. It had fallen back, seemingly damaged; but a second machine had quickly finished what the first started and had broken through. Many of the techs scattered in disarray through the side corridor, and now Eric and Allison were the only ones left alive in the room. A few bodies lay bloodied and torn, strewn amongst the debris and spent weapons on the floor - stone dead. Eric was certain he was about to join them in a few seconds.

Allison Young, unarmed and feeling totally helpless, somehow found herself rooted to the spot - watching in horror as her friend succumb to the T-888. The machine grasped the hapless Eric by the neck and hoisted him into the air as easily as if he were a rag doll. The middle-aged man clawed weakly at his attacker with his arms while his legs hung limply. He tried to shout, but could only give a muffled gurgle: "Allison… go… now!"

The machine stared cruelly at the gasping, bearded face of Eric – and into his desperate yet defiant eyes – almost as if it were studying him. Its own eyes illuminated with a ghostly red light. Then slowly, menacingly, the machine turned to look directly at a petrified Allison.

_Run, Allison!!!_

Allison Young ran.

Her long brown hair streaming behind her, Allison stumbled through the dim corridors of what served as the Tech-Com barracks. Abandoning her friend Eric to the machine flew in the face of Allison's logic, but she had done what he wanted her to do – there was nothing more she _could do_. Her brown eyes, tear-filled and wide with desperation, scanned the floors in the hope of finding a weapon, but only saw dead or barely alive men and women slumped in doorways or propped against rubble and junk. All the while, she heard the distant yet agonizing cries of the dying and echoes of gunfire reverberate in her ears.

And so Allison continued running, deeper and deeper into the tunnel complex, hoping to uncover a secret civilian-dug escape hole or passageway - an escape route to the surface. The terrible sounds seemed to grow less and less frequent, till finally, the only sound she could discern was that of her own ragged breathing.

Allison paused, then looked back at where she had just come from. Instinctively, her right hand started fiddling with the silver bracelet she wore on her left wrist – as if the act somehow could bring her comfort or soothe her senses. As she did this, she thought briefly about the trust John Connor had placed on her and her cohort of young techs. She thought about the man who treated her and her peers as if he were their own father. She thought about her own life: what fragile hopes and dreams she harboured of this apocalyptic world; what she had believed in and what she was doing with her fellow techs as part of Connor's Tech-Com research campaign. She thought about the difference she could make, and more – she recalled Connor's belief and faith in them.

_It felt like everything was lost now._

Allison was jerked back to reality when she saw the beam of a torchlight pierce the dank air behind her. For a moment, her heart fluttered with hope that someone – a Tech-Com operator perhaps - was miraculously alive and about to lead her to safety.

And then she heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps approaching. Not running or erratic; just the steady plodding of a pair of boots - even-paced and unrelenting.

Machine-like. Growing louder.

A single piercing scream rang out, followed by the explosion of a single gunshot.

_The sound of someone being executed at point-blank range._

Then it was quiet again… save for the continuing, ominous footsteps echoing down the tunnel toward her.

_They were coming for her, hunting her._

Allison started running again.

---

0503hrs – July 30 2025

Approach to Eagle Rock Bunker

Sumner's recovery party had traveled through the night – skirting demolished buildings and crawling through tunnels - with little rest, even less food, and no sleep whatsoever. Sunrise was approaching, and the soldiers were tired, starving, and more than a little prone to irritation. All except one of them – the soldier that did not fatigue, did not grow hungry, and never needed sleep. That soldier was now carrying the body-bag that contained the spoils of their mission – the T-X torso – all by himself.

As he had done so for the last three hours. There had been no further need for the combat stretcher: it had been folded up and packed back into one of the soldier's rucksacks.

"You know what, tin can? I still think the General should have sent you along with an APC, or at least a pick-up truck," quipped the soldier marching alongside Chris the T-888, "Then at least we'd be resting right now."

"Zip it, Adams." Sumner chided, "We're not out of the junkyard yet."

"Traveling in a vehicle would have compromised our tactical advantage in the event of an aerial HK attack." Chris explained in a monotone droll. "Travel on foot is slower, but it attracts less attention and ensures a higher chance of mission success."

"And besides," added Sumner in a low voice, "if the shit really hit the fan, no one would lament the loss of an APC… never mind the eight of us." A couple of the other men let out quiet chuckles at his comment.

"Yes sir… and our metal friend here would just play dead while we got shot to pieces by his Skynet buddies." Adams - despite Sumner's warning and attempt at trying to lighten the mood - could not resist taking another dig at Chris, currently still burdened with the body-bag.

Sumner stopped in his tracks, turned, and gave Adams a death stare. He jabbed a gloved finger into his subordinate's chest harness.

"Soldier, you are _way_ out of line!" Sumner angrily whispered, "One more word and I'll find a way to silence you myself, I swear."

"Sorry sir."

"Look, we're tired and all that, but we're almost home." Sumner said in as even a voice as he could manage. "Appreciate the fact that Chris isn't complaining about all the carrying he's done tonight for us."

Chris glanced at Sumner with a vaguely curious expression on his smudged face and said, "Your gratitude is not required, sir." He continued marching, balancing the body-bag over his left shoulder.

_Machines,_ Sumner sighed to himself, shaking his head. _They don't bitch and moan, but they don't accept compliments and get all big-headed either. Maybe that's why they make for better soldiers in the big scheme of things._

The squad moved on in silence for five more minutes, then paused. Sumner waved Adams forward to scout the bunker entrance while the rest took cover. Adams reappeared barely a minute later - worry clouded his already fatigued, bloodshot eyes.

"Sir, something's not right, no one's answering. And the door seems to be jammed from the inside."

"Shit…"

Adams, Sumner and Chris re-approached the bunker entrance, which was literally a doorway concealed behind a tangle of rubble and steel girders. With a single shove, Chris slowly pushed open the seized door. Immediately, the smells of scorched metal, melted plastic and burnt flesh assailed Sumner's nostrils.

It was the stench of death.

"A machine was here. It barricaded the door with heavy equipment." Chris observed, "The place has been infiltrated."

_Christ,_ Sumner thought, _the shit had indeed hit the fan. _They were all down there: enlisted men, fellow officers, commanders, even the refugees which hung around and called Eagle Rock their home.

_They were all probably dead. If not captured._

Sumner felt a surge of adrenaline course through his body as the seriousness of the situation took hold of him. He took a deep breath to compose himself. Then, he began briefing Adams and Chris.

"Adams, head back to the gang and tell them to conceal the endo immediately. High alert, and make sure the Barretts can cover this spot as well as the way we approached by. Chris, you are to proceed into the bunker. Search for and engage any enemy infiltrators. Remove the chip from any deactivated endos. Use yesterday's password to signal all clear. We'll go down with you after that to look for survivors."

Adams and Chris replied in unison: "Yes sir."

Sumner added: "If we find anyone, we may have to break radio silence and call in the calvary."

Fifteen minutes later, Chris emerged from the bunker, his already-grimy face further darkened by the soot from fires that were still smouldering down below.

"There is one deactivated infiltrator," the T-888 said to Sumner and Adams, "but its chip port is empty. I counted 83 deceased, zero alive. Mostly military, but 23 of the deceased are wearing civilian attire. There may be survivors hiding."

"Damnit…." Sumner cursed as he looked at Chris, then at Adams, "OK, Chris and myself are going in. Get Marty and Badger over here to help us."

---

0531hrs – July 30 2025

Nebraska Bunker – Resistance Forward Command Post

John Connor had just risen from his cot when Barnes came knocking at the door to his quarters.

"Sir, signals just picked up a call from the recovery squad - they're requesting a heli-evac."

John's eyes screwed wide open at Barnes' words. A sense of dread crept under his skin as he hurriedly dressed and pulled on his boots.

"Who called it in?"

"The squad leader, First Lieutenant Sumner… but they're already back at base."

"They're calling from Eagle Rock?"

"That's the thing sir," Barnes hesitated, the bad news hanging briefly on the tip of his tongue, "Eagle Rock was raided – a sneak attack. Nine machines went in. They killed most; took some."

"Oh God, no…." John scowled as he grimly but briskly marched from his room, Barnes in tow. The just-awakened general resisted the urge to punch the door, kick over his chair, or commit other such acts of violence as a means of venting his growing frustration. He could not let Barnes see him lose control. He was General John Connor; he had to remain calm, composed, and decisive. The whole world might be going to hell (or, it already had, as it were), but emotions had to be set aside in the interests of the job he had to do.

Of course that did not change the fact that the mission John had coordinated now lay in tatters. On any given day, the fall of a Tech-Com bunker to infiltrators was a serious setback in itself. But because he had specifically ordered the techs from Caltech to rendezvous at Eagle Rock, John felt – _no, knew_ – he was all the more responsible for the tragedy that had unfolded as a result. There were people – _important people, from within his inner circle_ – dead and missing. And John knew he had their blood on his hands.

John spoke in a soft voice: "There were a hundred of our people in there, plus civilians. Any word about our Caltech crew?" He knew that question was pointless, but he felt he had to ask anyway.

"Sir," Barnes replied, "the tech team was there when it happened. I'm… I'm sorry."

"Jesus…."

"They're still searching for survivors. We got two birds being prepped now."

"Good. Did Chris report? Did he keep an eye on her the whole time?"

"Yes sir. Sumner handed over to Chris immediately after evac was requested. Our metal constantly had visual on Catherine during the entire mission. He stated that she did not leave them or do anything suspicious."

John did not reply. He was, however, reassured to a small measure by confirmation that Catherine had not strayed from the recovery party. She was far from being completely trustworthy, and John had made sure Chris constantly kept a look out as he took a deliberately misleading route - to throw off tailing enemy infiltrators, save Catherine herself - towards his link-up with Sumner. As for warning Sumner about Catherine, John knew that it would have been pointless. There was no way to know how human soldiers - even highly capable and dead loyal ones like Sumner – would react to the knowledge that a shape-shifting, un-scrubbed terminator which _had not been re-programmed_ was tagging along. _Everyone's a little bit racist, _John thought, _or in this case, machine-wary_. Human emotion – no matter how suppressed - once swayed by prejudice and bias, could fracture squad cohesiveness, and potentially compromise the mission. At least Chris did not suffer from that problem. He also made sure that Chris kept a tab on her throughout his mission – as much as she kept a tab on him and Sumner's men.

Even though Sumner and his men probably did not know she was even there_._

_Catherine could not have made a tip off or otherwise initiate the attack on Eagle Rock, _John concluded. Then another thought entered his mind – one which insidiously pricked his suspicion even more: _it must have been something – or someone - else._ He pushed that worry aside for now; he had more pressing matters to attend to.

John and Barnes turned a corner and entered the radio room. The signal operator seated at the communications console immediately handed over a headset to John.

"Sir, it's Lieutenant Sumner," he said.

John turned up the speaker volume on the signal set so Barnes and the radio operator could hear the transmission. He then put the headset to his ears and spoke into the in-built microphone. "Connor here. What's your status, Lieutenant?"

A tinny-sounding but clear voice – Sumner's - replied, _"Sir, my men are fine. We've run out of food and are getting some shut-eye now, but we're OK. We pulled two survivors from the bunker. They say they're technicians. And another eight-person Tech-Com patrol just arrived back."_

"What's their status?"

"_They were on a routine patrol last night. They're OK too; some of them are in the bunker now trying to salvage weapons, medical supplies, and rations."_

Urgency tainted John's next questions: "How… how about the techs who survived? What are their names? Are they injured?"

A pause, then the headset crackled: _"We have a Clive Lee… young chap. Not a scratch. Says he hid in the food locker when the machines were down there. And we have… an invalid guy, Eric Boykins. He's in pretty bad shape. Unconscious, possibly in shock. We need to get him to a real doctor soon, sir, or he might not make it. Also, there's a spot of bad weather moving in."_

"Alright, secure the area and take cover. The birds are coming. ETA 40 mikes. Be sure to authenticate on final approach."

"_Appreciate it, sir."_

"Hang in there, Sumner. Over and out." John put the headset down and gave a sigh.

"What do we do now, sir?" Barnes inquired. He knew Sumner had successfully recovered the T-X torso; what was of immediate concern, however, was recovering from the blow that was the fall of Eagle Rock and the decimation of Connor's inner circle of techs.

John gave him a small smile. "Well, we can tell Cullen Lee that his brother is alive. Boykins too, but he's hurt bad."

"Understood sir, I'll let Lauren know ASAP," Barnes replied. He then added with some hesitation, "Sir… what about… Allison? Is she…?"

"I don't know Barnes… I don't know." John's voice seemed to crack a little as he pronounced the young woman's name. "We'll… we'll find out soon enough."

Barnes just nodded silently, aware that he had just touched a raw nerve in John; he knew full well that the General was distraught at the very likely possibility that Allison Young was no longer alive.

John popped a somewhat unexpected question: "Barnes… Williams and Mirhadi are rostered to fly, right?"

"Yes, sir. They'll be in the first sortie to Eagle Rock. Why?"

Barnes had assumed that only Lauren and a couple of her fellow medics, plus a handful of soldiers as escorts, would be flying in to evacuate the casualties to a secure bunker with appropriate medical facilities. Connor - and by extension, himself – had to stay put at Nebraska as he was scheduled to oversee frontline operations for a couple more days.

But then what Barnes was not prepared for was what John said next.

"Good: we're flying in with them."

---

Ten minutes later

John, Barnes and Lauren Fields, dressed in combat attire. clambered aboard one of the two UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters sitting in the darkened clearing outside Nebraska Bunker. In addition to the assault rifles they were carrying, Lauren also toted a large pack containing combat first aid medical supplies. The two soldiers manning the helicopter's pair of M60 door guns nodded in salutation as they entered. Both helicopters' engines were warmed up and whining, their rotor blades spinning.

It was very rare that these aircraft – prized commodities of the human Resistance that they were – were rolled out of their heavily camouflaged and fortified hangers and simultaneously deployed. But they had, under authority of no less than General Connor himself. Skynet had decimated much of the already paltry numbers of military planes and helicopters the Resistance had. Only a handful of aircraft such as these Blackhawks remained in operational condition; when they _were_ deployed – there was absolutely no doubt that it could only be for missions of the highest priority.

John helped himself to the co-pilot's seat and strapped himself in, then pulled an intercom headset over the buzz-cut hair of his head. He peered out of the cockpit windshield over at the neighbouring chopper and noted the tech named Cullie, Marcus Wright, and another medic were in the process of boarding it. He then acknowledged the black-haired, helmeted woman in the brown aviator jacket and green flightsuit sitting next to him.

"Blair, good to be flying with you again. You patched to the other chopper?"

"A pleasure, sir. Yes, I got him on the line." Blair Williams replied.

"Good, tell Mirhadi we have 25 minutes to get us out to Eagle Rock."

Blair gave a thumbs-up gesture: "We'll only need 20 if we run hot, sir." She proceeded to increase the throttles of her machine. The sound of the Blackhawk's engines increased their pitch, and the machine started to rise into the murky morning air. Blair scanned her eyes left of her cockpit and saw that Mirhadi's helicopter was also off the ground. She checked to the right and saw a line of dark, low-level clouds on the horizon, blotting out the feeble pre-dawn light.

Blair glanced back into the passenger cabin where Lauren and Barnes were, then spoke into her helmet intercom microphone, "Buckle up back there… there's a storm coming."

* * *

_A/N3: Revisiting minor characters is fun and a challenge to incorporate into the story where I can. I only introduce new people and new names when it can't be helped. In addition to Allison and Eric, the names of the senior techs should be familiar as well. Barbara Chamberlain (ARTIE's creator), Kendo (John's Korean computer-gamer friend), Xander Akagi (Dakara Systems' whiz-kid); Morris (John's machine shop schoolmate); David Lyman (Cromartie's plastic surgeon) and Felicia Burnet (the trauma surgeon in 'The Good Wound') – they all survived Judgment Day. Despite ageing and the difference in years between them, they are the best and brightest that the Resistance has been able to muster (from the area formerly known as LA County) to conduct scientific research._

_A/N4: I appreciate your reviews. Thanks for reading – your feedback and traffic motivate me to keep going and spinning this tale!_


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